The Ravenclaw Chronicles
by Lilith True
Summary: The founding of Hogwarts through the eyes of Rowena Ravenclaw... FINISHED
1. Disclaimer

Disclaimer and Explanation

Disclaimer and Explanation

The characters Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin, and the school Hogwarts all belong to Joanne Rowling, and are registered trademarks of (sigh) Warner Brothers.

Now, if you are ready to be thoroughly bored, I'd like to tell you a few things about this story. Yes, you may go on to chapter one if you'd like…

****

… Still there? Oh boy! 

I was looking up information about Britain for another story when I came across a passage that interested me very much. Here it is:

"Vortigern was the British king who invited the Jutes to come to Britain to help him fight the Picts about 449 A.D. This event began the Anglo-Saxon conquest of England. Later he fought with Hengist, leader of the Jutes, whose victory led to the founding of the kingdom of Kent. Some legends say he married Hengist's daughter, Rowena." 

(The World Book Encyclopedia, 1969 Edition)

So, I ended up abandoning my other story (for a time) and have been working on this instead. I had always wondered about the founders. In many stories I had read, they were fairly one-dimensional characters (I apologize if they are in mine as well!). But as I read more and more about the events surrounding the Anglo-Saxon invasion of Britain in the 400's, a possible story fell into place. If any of the background information interests you, please check out [http://www.vortigernstudies.org.uk/][1] to learn more about this period of history. Of course, I have taken many liberties with the timeline, and the events and places, and if you spot anything that's just straight out wrong, please [e-mail][2] me. Some of you may have studied this in history, and know far more about it than I do, but for me (a clueless American) it's been lots of fun discovering this bit of time. The story begins in the year 446 A.D., placing the founders 500 years before all other accounts, in the days preceding the reign of King Arthur…

   [1]: http://www.vortigernstudies.org.uk/
   [2]: mailto:prettyannamoon@hotmail.com



	2. Ravenwood

Part I ~ Ravenwood

I can still remember standing there, on the first morning of summer. 

I had risen before the sun that morning, the moon was still high in the sky and the stars still twinkling at their heights. I clutched my cloak around me as I walked through the shadows and mists to my destination. My breath rose through the cool air, mingling with the patches of fog before traveling onward, up to it's destination in the violet heavens. I looked to the east, away from the mountains from whence I had come. Luna was retreating, relinquishing her nightly domain to her fair brother and his celestial chariot. The night sky was fading to blue, and the few low clouds that hugged the horizon were colored a deep bronze. Years later, I would remember this sunrise as the beginning – the colors of perfect harmony and peace. But that morning I attached no meaning to the sight, only gazed upon itwith the pleased eye of a child on a journey.I was a simple pilgrim, eager to reach my destination, still wiping the slumber from my eyes, the dust of a three day journey on my feet. In past years, my mother had bid me rise, but this year I made the journey alone. It was the seventh trip I had taken to the spot, and I knew the path well. Torches bobbed in the distance, and the low murmur of reverent voices told me I would arrive soon.

From the mists of the forest, and the darkness of the thick pines, I stepped out onto the plain. There, in the distance, the monument stood, it's view uninhibited – the great stones arranged in a perfect circle. Even in my youth, many of the stones already lay fallen on the ground. But there, right before the sun broke free of it's bonds of darkness, it was the same as it had always been…since time immemorial. I stood at the edge of the silent crowd, peering through a gap in the wall of bodies. A shot of red streaked over the dark horizon, then another. I narrowed my eyes, and held up a hand to shade the glare, but I dared not look away. The brilliant light of Aurora rose majestically, almost perfectly between two of the titanic columns. The silence was deafening as we gazed on the scene, young and old, all with the same sense of wonder. Then, a voice just as sweet broke the stillness, and a chorus of voices joined in, singing the hymn of summer; an ode to the warmth of the sun. I lifted my voice to the heavens.

****

It was the last time in my childhood I was to make the journey to the circle on Midsummer's day. I returned to my village of Ravenwood, rather weary, but with a flame in my soul that could not be extinguished by the hard winter months that lay ahead. My mother was waiting for me when I arrived, a gentle smile on her face. She asked me no questions. She didn't need to ask to understand – that was the bond between us, the bond of our people. Instead, she simply told me that it was time to feed the chickens. I grabbed the sack and headed for the door.

It was a normal day, the sky blue as I cast the feed out of my apron to our little brown hens. A group of ravens from the nearby forest soared overhead, cackling and cawing. The winged scavengers had given the village it's name, back when my father's people had first crossed the river. But that was many years ago. My father had died when I was only a baby. My mother and I raised our chickens and sold eggs in the market for our living. It was a difficult life, but at the time I did not realize it – I acknowledged the fact that in order live, I must eat, and in order to eat, I must work; so I did my chores with no complaints. But the time I cherished were the evenings, warm summer evenings when I could sit outside with a candle (my mother would not permit flames inside our wooden hut) and read the heavy scrolls my father had left us. He had not been an ordinary man, but one of great wisdom and talents. Mother told me that he could walk on water, and make rocks turn to bread, and cause inanimate objects to fly. While I wasn't sure if I believed her entirely, I had decided early on I was destined to follow in his footsteps. I did this in the way I knew best – by committing to heart all of the information in the scrolls. Mother would not let me stay out for long after dark though – she would hurry me in with an anxious expression on her face. Wolves and bandits still roamed the glen, and fantastic tales of beast the size of houses – great green dragons – prevailed across the countryside. Gypsy travelers spread these stories when they traveled through Ravenwood, singing long epics left over from the ruins of Rome, and performing feats of magic. I had been able to impress them with a few tricks to match theirs, ones I had learned from the parchments. Most were quite simple, and the gypsies would applaud politely, but when I showed them how I was able to control the winds, their smiles would drop from their faces, and were replaced with looks of awe. It was then I realized my little tricks were more than the average magician could accomplish. So when mother approached me that evening, I listened to her carefully.

"Rowena," she called, after supper, as I was getting down the scrolls. "Rowena, you should like to knowwhat has happened while you were away."

I returned the scrolls to their basket, and sat down beside her on the straw mat we used for our bed. She looked quite serious, so I watched her, concerned.

"On the first day of summer, a traveler arrived. His name is Phineas, and he comes from a place called Londinium, far to the east."

I nodded for her to continue. 

"He is in charge of a school, and he has come to seek apprentices. I know that you are only a girl, but if you show him your powers… Rowena, it is a school of sorcery. The sciences of the stars, of the metals and plants… you could learn the languages of the old empire, learn to read official documents. And you would learn how to use your magic." Her eyes had that far away look to them. "Your father would have wanted that. He wanted to teach you himself, you know. You should try, Rowena," she continued, turning back to me, "to impress this man so that he will take you to the city, and teach you these things. When you are finished with your schooling, you can make the journey back here, and help Ravenwood to become a place of learning as well. That was your father's dream."

I nodded. 

"Yes mother. I will do my best."

****

I woke early in the morning, dressed, and headed for the town's square. A lone raven soared overhead as I turned the dusty corner. About five boys between the ages of six and thirteen were assembled there. They looked as if they very much wanted to be elsewhere. We waited for several minutes, without speaking. Then, out of the local inn, The Crow's Nest, a tall figure appeared. He was dressed all in black, and was beardless, though his grey hair made him appear to be old. He wore a funny black hat with a wide brim, and over one eye was a circle of glass, through which he peered down at us. Leaning on his walking stick, he cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"As you have all been informed, my name is Phineas, and I come from the city of Londinium to seek the best apprentices for my school of Sorcery and Sciences. I would like for you to each show me an example of your work, so I can devise what level you are." He clapped his hands together. "Who would like to begin?"

At first no one spoke. But then one of the older boys pushed a younger one forward. "He wants to go first sir."

The boy, who looked quite frightened, proceeded to repeat, in a quivering voice, the incantation used for the flight of objects. With a thin stick of wood, he guided a fallen raven feather for several feet. I smiled to myself at this little trick – I recognized the wand as one bought from the gypsies.

The other boys performed various spells, all quite elementary, and all with the help of a wand. Just as the last boy finished, Phineas spoke.

"Well, as that is all…"

I stepped forward. "Excuse me sir, but I would like a chance as well."

He peered at me through his monocle. "But, you are a girl," he said after a moment.

I chose not to answer this obvious observation, and instead, pushed back my sleeves. 

"Don't you need a wand?" one of the boys asked, in a jesting tone. "You're free to borrow mine." He winked at me.

"That's Rowena," a younger boy whispered. "Don't tease her. She'll turn you into a toad just by glancing your way."

I chose to ignore this comment as well, and, closing my eyes and breathing in and out, started to move my hand.

A breeze whispered through the square, from the south. Then, one wended it's way around the corner from the east. Next came a westerly wind, and finally, a cold breeze blew in from the north. I opened my eyes in time to see them join into a small spiral of air and dust in the center of the square. The other children backed away uncertainly. Phineas, however, moved closer in. He stuck his gnarled hand into the spiral, holding it there for a brief second. When he removed it, a clotted cut on his index finger was bleeding freely. He held his hand up to his face.

"Amazing," he whispered, staring at the wound. He looked at me. "But can you do the basic spells as well?"

With a flick of my wrist, and a simple phrase, I whisked the same feather that the other boys had used high into the air.

Phineas regarded me for a few moments, then offered his hand. "Come with me, child," he said. I followed him into the tavern.

We sat at the great table, and he got himself a drink from one of the large barrels. After taking a few sips, he asked, "What is your name?"

"I am Rowena, daughter of Bram, founder of Ravenwood."

A light of recognition flickered in his eyes. "Your father was a wizard, was he not?"

I nodded in assent.

He took a few more sips of his drink, and peered at me over his glass. "Sorcery is not women's work, you must know that, Rowena."

"But you saw what I can do." I said, speaking low but steadily. "I'm far better than the boys out there, I've already mastered all the tricks… I just want to learn how to use my abilities in a practical way. I want to study. Look at what I've done with a few scrolls… with a library, I could do even more!"

He took down his monocle and rubbed it with the corner of his robe before proceeding. "Perhaps. I know you are capable. I just wonder if your presence would create too much tension… None of my students, even the oldest ones, show as much promise as you. But my school is a firmly formed institution. No one goes outside the rules. And with you there, I only wonder…" He rubbed his chin, looking very tired.

"I must, of course, speak with your mother about this matter. There is a great chance that you may stay in Londinium for the rest of your life, you know."

I only smiled and shook my head at this, but I did not speak. I knew I would return to Ravenwood, but telling this man my plans did not seem prudent. If he knew I planned to return the moment I had gained the necessary skills, he might not let me come at all. Better to wait, watch and listen.

  
****

Of course, my mother told Phineas that I was free to go, though she would miss me dearly. The following morning, I packed my belongings and my father's scrolls, gave her one last hug, and left on foot, trailing along behind Phineas in the direction of the rising sun. We passed through the great forest where the ravens roosted, and I closed my eyes, listening to their melancholy calls. "Goodbye Rowena," they seemed to say, "return to us soon." 

"I promise," I replied aloud, to no one in particular. Ahead, Phineas did not ask me to whom I was speaking, but continued in his path. I followed.


	3. Londinium

Londinium

****

The journey was a long one, second only to the journey I would take to the north years later. We walked the entire way, without the aid of a donkey or wagon. Occasionally we would join other travelers, mostly pilgrims and scholars, heading to Londinium. But most of the time, we walked on our own, slept in small inns, and cooked over fires that Phineas would conjure up. I learned much on that trip – how to divine the weather by a swallows flight, the best places to catch rabbits, charms to start fire and control water, how to find ones way in a forest. I had almost forgotten the purpose of the journey when Phineas informed me that we were nearing our destination. Certainly, I had lost count of the number of days we had traveled. But as dusk fell, we crossed the final great stretch of plain, and entered the outskirts of the old Roman city.

Coming upon the first few towns, I felt sure we had reached Londinium. But Phineas trekked onward, and I continued being amazed at the size of the towns – their houses, shops, barns, and inns. Many of the buildings were several stories high – something I had never before seen. Names such as the Emerald Dragon and the Murky Troll caught my attention. Dogs and children ran through the stinking streets, where garbage was dumped, straight from windows. Vendors and gypsies sold their wares from carts. An old, toothless lady offered me a flower. I smiled, and reached out a hand to accept it. Phineas saw and snatched my hand away. The woman scowled, one eye bulging, the other beady.

"I know oo' you are." She turned to me. "Beware of Phineas, child – 'is name means snake, 'an 'ee is one at that! But you," her face softened, "You are destined for greatness. Take pity, and remember an old granny in your prayers, won't ye, Rowena?"

I nodded blankly as Phineas dragged me away. As he led me down a cobbled alley, I asked him, "how did she know my name?"

His face contorted for a moment, as he spoke. "That is a hag. Do not ask how they know what they do, but do well to stay away from them. They eat small children."

We came out into what seemed to be a town square, curiously flanked by a gated wall on one side. Carts rumbled along, entering and exiting. I turned to Phineas. He smiled slightly. "Here we are – Londinium." He extended his arm.

We entered the gates. I was so busy looking at the passers-by, and the buildings, placed so close together, that I had no idea whether we walked one-hundred paces or one-thousand. We came to a stop on a side street. I looked up to see the sign of the inn we were standing in front of. A torch illuminated the bold script hanging above the door – The Leaky Cauldron. 

"Is this where we are to stay?" I inquired. Phineas looked down at me, rather surprised. 

"You noticed it," he murmured.

"Noticed what?" I asked politely.

He shook his head. "Nothing, trivial matter… in fact I was expecting…" he opened the door for me and I stepped inside.

It was a warm sort of place, with a cheery looking bar-tender. Phineas nodded to him curtly. "Thomas." He continued through the restaurant, and out a back door into a small courtyard. "Watch closely," he said, and took his wand out of his robes. He gently tapped a smooth stone in the center of the wall, pale blue, like the stones of the great circle. To my surprise, the wall opened up, revealing yet another bustling street. "Diagon Alley," he announced. "The wizarding center of Londinium, the largest one in the west. It rivals the great streets markets and bazaars of Egypt, Greece, and Constantinople" I gazed about in the twilight.

"Come, come," said Phineas, jerking my hand irritably. "I had wanted to return to the school before sunset. No time for dawdling."

We walked down the winding street to a small shop, almost hidden away in the evening shadows. "Ollivander's," Phineas grunted, as he led me inside. "The best wands in the world, not those simple sticks the gypsies sell. They've been in business since the beginning of time."

As I entered the shop, a peculiar feeling came over me – as if I had visited this shop many times before. I shook my head clear, as it was not possible that I had ever visited Londinium, much less this shop, in my short life. Even so, the hairs prickled up on my scalp as I sat down in a chair near the door to wait. I peered curiously into the dusty gloom of the shop, where the air seemed to tingle with a certain magic.

After a few moments, there was a bustling noise at the back doorway. A short man, arms full of thin wooden boxes, stumbled through the doorway. He set down the boxes on the front table, and, seeing that he had customers, adjusted his glasses and came toward us.

"Good day to you both." Phineas gave a curt nod. "How may I be of service to you this fine day?"

"The girl needs a wand," said Phineas, jerking his head toward me.

"Splendid!" The man, who I realized was quite short, smiled at me and clapped his hands together. "Let's get started, shall, we? Which hand do you use?"

"Both, sir," I answered honestly.

"But which do you write with?" he asked, trying to hide a smile.

"Either one, sir, but I favor my left."

"Very good." He snapped his fingers, and a long piece of thread floated out of a box and through the air to where we were standing. It proceeded to jump about, measuring my height – from head to foot, elbow to knee, one eye to another…

"That will do! Try this one…blackthorn and phoenix feather, one and a third palm… no? Willow and unicorn hair, two palms…" He whisked the wand out of my hand.

I do not know what made me do it, but while he was saying, "holly and phoenix feather…" I jerked my hand away, and pointed to a box near the bottom of the pile.

"I want that one," I proclaimed.

The owner raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He retrieved the box at which I had pointed, and brought out the wand. Holding it up to the fading light of the doorway, he said, almost questioningly, "Rowan wood and dragon heartstring, one and a half palms. Strong and resilient. An excellent choice. But will it choose you?"

As a answer, I grasped the wand in my left hand, and waved it. Sparks in all colors of the morning sky flew out… deep blues and golden oranges. I turned to the shop-keeper. He did not smile, but he nodded.

"What is your name child?"

"Rowena," I said, gazing down at the wand in my hand.

"Rowena," he repeated, almost in a whisper. "I expect to hear from you again some day."

I smiled graciously. "You will."

****

The school was not located within the safe walls of Diagon Alley, but in the bustling city center. In those days it was not yet necessary to hide away what we were doing, and a large gateway announced that we were entering the 'Wizardry Guild'. Inside the thick stone walls was a small, rather dusty courtyard, with doors leading off in all directions. A stairway ran up to a second story, where a covered walkway led to even more doors. "The classrooms are located on the ground, along with the kitchen and the rooms of my assistants. You will find the library to the right. Above," he pointed," are the dormitories. At this time, there are no other female students, so you will have a room to yourself. You may go upstairs and drop your things. Dinner is served right before sunset, we have missed it for tonight. Once you have made yourself presentable," he glanced over my travel-worn clothes and my dusty shoes, "you may come down to the kitchens and see if you can find anything edible. Goodnight, Rowena." 

The light from the two blue torches at the gate flickered on his monocle in an ominous way. I shivered slightly, but nodded. Shifting the weight of my bundle to the other arm, I climbed up the stairs, grasping the rail for support. As I walked down the porch, I heard laughter, and caught glimpses of light coming from cracks under the doors. My room was at the end of the first hall. I entered the small, dark space that was to be my room for the duration of my apprenticeship. It was quite tiny, a quarter of the size of our small cottage at home. There was room for only a straw mat and a wooden bench. A high window, only as large as my face, peered out onto an alleyway in the back. Feeling dismal, I dropped my bag on the bench, and sat down on my mat, head in my hands. For the first time since my journey had begun, I felt quite alone… far from my mother, far from the wood where the ravens nested… I raised my head to listen for their calls, and my ears were met with the sounds of rumbling carts and rowdy voices from the streets below. I curled up in a miserable ball, and fell fast asleep.

****

When I awoke, sunlight was streaming in my window. At least I had been given a room that looked to the east, I thought, rubbing my blurry eyes. My neck ached and my back was sore from the uncomfortable position I had slept in the night before. I stood and stretched, dusting the front of my dress. I hadn't even undressed the night before, and my skirt was quite wrinkled. I took off both of my shoes, and shook them gently. Dust flew, making me cough. As I slid the boots back on my feet, I noticed a small basin of water at the end of the bench. I walked over, and glanced down at my reflection. A pale girl stared up at me, her face burnt by sun and streaked by dirt, her dark hair a wild mess about her shoulders. I splashed the water onto my face and scrubbed with my hands, it revived me a bit. I pulled the cloth away from my hair, and raked my fingers through the tangles, tying it back tightly in a knot. I covered my head once more, and taking my wand from my bag, left the room.

I wandered down the stairs to the empty courtyard, and paced about in a lazy circle, examining the doors. The kitchen was down here somewhere, I mused, and I could certainly use a bite to eat. But I do want to examine the library – hopefully soon, and without anyone glancing over my shoulder. 

However my thoughts were interrupted, and my mind made up for me, as a stout, red-faced lady bustled out of one of the doors. She seemed surprised to see me.

"Oh! Allo, Dearie… hare ye lost?" She squinted at me as though she were looking at the bright morning sun.

"I am a new student here," I answered, unconsciously dusting my skirt again. "My name is Rowena."

The woman raised her eyebrows, but obviously didn't say what she was thinking. Instead she said," Rowena… now at's ha pretty name. 'Ow old hare ye, Rowena?"

I straightened up. "I was eight, this past winter."

Once again she raised her brow, but did not voice what she was thinking. Finally she sighed.

"Yer ha pretty mite of a girl Rowena, but I don't envy ye one bit. I only wish ye luck. Now into the kitchens with ye, I've just got breakfast over the fire."

I followed her through the door on the right. It was not until I sat down, and had the bowl of porridge set before me that I felt the knots that hunger had tied in my stomach. I put the bowl to my mouth, and ate hurriedly. The cook looked pleased.

"Ye eat like a boy, 'at's for sure," she said in a self-satisfied tone. She collected my bowl as I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. "They'll all be down soon enough. Ye can stay 'ere if ye like, an wait for announcements."

I followed the cooks advice, and sat on the stool until the hall was filled. Most of the boys didn't give me a second look, being too busy with their own friends and antics, but I did attract several stares and whispers, especially from some of the older boys. I kept my face placid, and stared directly at the head table through all of breakfast. At last Phineas entered the hall, and everyone quieted. 

After going over a schedule of classrooms and times that made my head spin, Phineas apologized to the group for his long absence. Not much was to be found in the west, he told them, causing me to bristle a bit. But I remained calm as he gestured to me and told the group that he had found one new student. "This is Rowena," he informed them," and I expect you to treat her like any one of us, and let her study in peace. She will be starting in form two as of this morning."

"Form two!" I heard a boy at the next table mutter to a friend. "She doesn't even look as if she can handle first year work."

"Phineas will be rid of her soon enough," murmured his friend.

Phineas clapped his hands in order to regain the attention he had lost after introducing me. "Everyone to your classes! First form follow Uriah, second forms follow Owen, third forms… behind me."

I looked quickly to see who he had gestured to. The first boy, Uriah, looked to be about fourteen, and was tall and thin, with sallow skin and dark hair. The second boy, Owen was older and kinder-looking. His powerful arms looked as if he knew the meaning of hard labor, but his sandy hair and dark eyes created a pleasant effect on his square face. I knew I was glad to be following him.

Over the next few days, I learned many things. Yet I was surprised that I never saw Phineas, except at breakfast each morning. It seemed that he deemed only the highest students worthy of teaching, and left the others to the care of his apprentices. Which was fine with me. Dark eyed Owen was a good teacher, willing to explain even to the daftest student, patient and good-natured. He did not need to explain things to me very often, for I was a good student, and learned my lessons quickly. We were in the library one day when he approached me with a book.

"Rowena," he said, "I think you would make good use of this. You already have a good grasp on Latin," he lowered his voice, "above the other students. This is a third form book, but I think it will help you understand some of those parchments you work on so diligently."

I smiled and thanked him, not letting him know that my understanding of the parchment flowed not from my study of the letters, but from my understanding of the whole. Concepts came easily to me. However, I studied the third form books, eager to get ahead of my classmates. 

For three years I stayed in Owen's class, though he repeatedly told Phineas that I should be moved on to third form. I studied hard, Latin, Greek, sciences of plants and elements, the movements of the stars… and, of course, spells. I grew adept at the smaller charms, and perfected my ability to move time with the winds. It was that that I practiced, night after night, alone in my room. I learned early on that my candle would be extinguished by the winds I controlled, so instead I used magical flames, conjured by my wand to dance about my room in an unearthly fashion. By this point I had reverted my father's parchments to my memory, and needed only to close my eyes, and chant the words to have the past, present, and future swirl before my eyes. I saw great things in my tiny room… the rise and fall of kings and conquerors, the changing of the oceans and heavens… I saw the scorching desert, the frozen tundra –all by my simple wand light. And I saw faces, many faces, that would haunt me all the days of my life.

And with the faces came the voices. Real voices, those that echoed in the marketplace. Rumors of a witch girl who could divine the future. I had made the mistake of telling a classmate that he would lose a bet, and giving the exact amount. Now all of the boys consulted me before betting on Saturdays. I could see why the books and parchments had told me never to reveal my secrets, but I disregarded it as a minor annoyance. However, it did cause quite a stir out in the town. Phineas even took me aside and chided me. 

"People will start talking, and we will be ruined," he said in an ominous tone.

I spoke of my gift to no one else, but the rumors continued to spread.

****

I suppose the end began when Owen started fighting the dragons. It was a common practice in those days to go down to the town squares on Saturdays, amidst the beggars, pick-pockets and woman of ill repute, and watch the men fight with the dragons. It was quite exciting, the hot rush of flames against your face, even behind the fence. Big, brawny men, covered in sweat and scorch marks, would take a shield and a lance, and enter the pen. There, it was a complicated dance, a ritual of moves done time and time again, and then a quick move – a hasty jab – and the dragon was defeated, lying on the ground with smoke rising from it's nostrils and blood gushing from it's wound.

It was a Friday night, and I was up in my cell, divining as usual. But my eyes focused on one picture out of the many, rushing by like water, and I fell to the ground gasping, my guts turned to lead. I slept very little that night, and worried all through breakfast. I went for a walk to cool my nerves, trying to forget what I had seen. _Do not change the course of time for your own devices. Do not change the course of time for your own devices. _I repeated this over and over in my head like a song. As I re-entered the gate, I glanced up. Owen was walking toward me, blissfully unaware of what was willed to happen today. "Hullo, Rowena!" he chirped. "It's going to be a lovely day." He wiped his hands on the leather coat he held in his hands. "Not too bright, but warm…" He smiled.

I wanted to yell at him, to tell him to give up this foolhardy past time. I wanted to tell him exactly when to leave, for I had seen his death if he did not. But I couldn't. I couldn't bear to confirm their suspicions, couldn't bear to break the sacred rule of my fathers scrolls and the great volumes in the library. _Do not change the course of time for your own devices. Watch, but do not touch…_

"Watch yourself today," I told him, eyebrows raised. "It wouldn't do for you to be hurt in the tournament."

He regarded me with a strange look, but nodded. "No, it wouldn't. Take care, Rowena."

"Fare thee well, Owen," I whispered as he walked away into the bustling streets.

****

We gathered around the busy square, at noon. He had been wrong about the haze, it had cleared away by breakfast, leaving a sun that was high in the sky. It's rays shone down with a heat uncommon for March. I stood back with a group of girls from another school, removing my shawl and letting the sun fall full on my face. Several of the white clad girls frowned at this, crinkling up their freckle-less noses at my impudence. I pretended not to notice, and stood anxiously on my toes to scan over the heads of the crowd.

I saw several of the younger boys from the school, climbing on the fence of the makeshift arena. Many were spending their months pocket money on the treats and tricks being sold by the peddlers who crowded the streets. The older boys were all joined in a huddle, casting lots and betting chance cards on the outcome of the match. I looked past them, into the pit, hoping to catch a glimpse of Owen.

Then, there he was, at the edge of the fence, standing next to a burly man who seemed to be giving him instructions. Owen nodded firmly, and turned to face the pit where the dragon was chained. I closed my eyes and held my breath. _Steady, Rowena, steady._

I kept my eyes closed as the horns blew, as the crowd roared. I knew the scene by heart, every horrible second was replaying in my head. The dragon grew closer, closer… Owen raised his sword and shield…

My eyes flew open, and I heard my own scream escape my lips. "Owen, _move!_"

He had been frozen in the proper stance, staring down the dragon, but my yell seemed to jolt him into uncertainty. He ducked to the side. Where he had been standing a moment before, the dragon blew a fiery breath of brimstone. The ground was charred. As the mighty beast twisted around, crying angrily, Owen neatly planted his lance into the dragons side. It let out a scream of anguish. Men rushed forward with their wands and spears. The creature let out one terrible cry, and fell to the ground, silenced forever. 

I felt a tear roll down my cheek. People around me were staring, and backing away slightly. I heard the familiar murmur.

"It's that witch girl, the one at the school that you've heard about…"

"… divines the future…"

I turned, face in hands, and fled.

****

"Don't, Gabriel, you're going to drop it," I said, rather annoyed. The mop-headed child returned the globe to it's place, looking at it wide-eyed, as if it might explode at any moment. 

I had a splitting headache, and was sitting at a table in the library, holding my skull gingerly between my fingers. I had had a good cry the night before. This morning, Owen had thanked me, and told me that he would once more press his request for me to be moved on to third form. And the look that Phineas had given me as I was leaving the kitchen… that shrewd, calculating look. It was not an expression I liked at all. Indeed, I was quite upset to see him watching me through the bookcases from where he taught his third forms. I glared straight back at him.

Owen sat down next to me, on the bench. I didn't look up until I felt his hand on mine. A bit shocked, I jerked my eyes up to meet his. Instead of his usual smiling expression, I met a look of concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

I nodded gingerly. "Tired, I suppose."

He took my hand in his once more. "Rowena, I have good news." He said this merrily, but I found it hard to believe as I looked into his eyes. "You're being moved up." Here he lowered his voice. "Watch Phineas carefully," he murmured, "he may…" here he struggled, as if searching for the right words, "try to take advantage of his position."

I suppose my expression showed my naivety, as he continued. "If he does or says anything out of place, come to me… there are other schools, you know, better ones…" shaking his head, he looked at me once more. "Just let me know how you're doing." I finally nodded, attempting a smile.

As he stood to leave, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Start locking your door at night." 

****

After that day, I was quite careful. In Phineas's class, I stuck to the book, and only answered questions when I was called on. He seemed to notice my unusual silence, and told me to stay after class one day, almost four weeks in to the course. He waited for the others to exit, then leaned back in his chair, surveying me as he had that first day in the square in Ravenwood. Finally, he spoke.

"Rowena, you know that I want you to excel, don't you?"

I had not expected this. I nodded mutely. He tapped the ends of his fingers together, grinning a grin that was not all pleasant.

"Of course," he mused, "I am pushing you to do so partially for my own selfish reasons." He leaned in closer, peering at me owlishly. "Rowena, have you ever questioned the reason you might be the only girl at my school?"

I felt my heart clench together in revulsion at what I knew he was speaking of, but I knew the safest course would be to play innocent. "It is because I have the potential to become a talented sorceress," I answered.

"No Rowena," he replied. "Not the _potential_ to become one, you _are_ one. Have you not yet realized that you are the best student in the school? Your powers are far above Uriah's, even Owen's." 

His honeyed words fell on my not entirely deaf ears, and I felt pride swell within me. _Careful Rowena_, whispered an inner voice. _It is not prudent to be proud_. 

"Perhaps someday they will rival my own. And a good teacher is sometimes rewarded by a faithful student," he continued, raising an eyebrow. "I picked you in hopes that some day my good will of taking you in would be rewarded…" he glanced upward, toying with a cord on the draperies, "… in a _partnership_ of some sort." He glanced back at me. I kept my face a placid lake. He sighed. "Perhaps we will speak of these things another time, when you are older," he said. "Good day, Rowena. You are dismissed."

****

The rest of the year, I was careful to play the part of the stupid child. But I was very watchful. I attended class, but did not learn from Phineas. On free afternoons, I would sit in the library, where there were always people coming and going. There I would study the ancient spell books. My appetite for knowledge grew as I was starved by a man I would not allow to teach me. At night, I followed Owen's advice, and was careful to bolt my door. 

But as the autumn turned into winter, and the trees were barren once more, a new threat came to the countryside. The walls that the Romans had built during their occupation in Britannia were collapsing after fifty years of neglect, and the raids from the north were becoming more frequent, and steadily heading south. In the market place you could hear reports by people who's northern relatives had been slain, and their villages burnt. Their was an outcry for the king to respond to the attacks. But the army of the Britons was unusually small, as we were a peaceful people, who preferred farming to feuding. So instead, our king turned to the lands across the sea, and invited great warriors to come and help us fight these strange barbarians. So they came, from across the sea in their mighty ships, led by the legendary brothers, Hengist and Horsa. Soon the Picts were retreating, but the Jutes, as these far-landers were called, began settling in about town. They could be seen, gawked at by the school girls in white, on the way to the market or the town square. They were tall, dark creatures, unlike any men I had ever seen, with broad, dark faces, and wild black hair. They stood guard with their spears and armor, driving away even the fear of invasion from Caledonia.

Still, I was not preoccupied with such matters. I was far more busy darning old clothes in preparation for the hard months ahead, helping cook make candle out of animal fat, studying my lessons locked away in my room, and avoiding Phineas.

He only managed to catch up with me toward the middle of the winter, not long after my birthday. I was walking down a dark passage, candle out before me, as a door opened to my left. I glanced up, only to look back down at my shoes again. I attempted to walk away quickly, but I felt his icy hand grasp my shoulder even through my thick cloak.

"Rowena, my dear," came the voice I hated, "we haven't talked in so long. Why don't you come in to my office, and we can chat?"

So this is where the snake burrows, I thought. I replied, a bit more icily than I should have, "I think not."

I could not make out his expression as he steered me around with his hand. "I have made you what you are child, pray not forget that." His voice had a note of steel in it that I hadn't heard before. Then it softened. "But you will reward me, won't you?" he asked. "In another year, you become an adult, capable of taking a vow. Cook told me that your twelfth birthday was the other day. Why didn't you tell me? Can you not trust me?"

"No, sir," I replied furiously, "I do not believe that I can. Let go of me now."

His fingers dug in tighter. "Never." And he bent over, cupping his cold hands about my face. I tried to back away, the glittering monocle hovering over me, like a snake poised to strike. But as he lowered his thin lips to mine…

"IMPEDIMENTA!" My voice sounded shrill and foreign as I called out the stunning spell. But it stopped him where he stood. I dropped my candle, turned and fled.

****

When Owen saw me next, he was immediately able to tell what had happened. "Did he get you?" he asked, horrified. I shook my head mutely. He put his arms around me tightly, and we stood in silence for a moment. "But why?" I finally whispered. "Why me?"

Owen pulled away. "Don't you see, Rowena? You have the most powerful brand of magic I've seen, far more powerful than Phineas. He wants to marry you, so that his offspring will bear his name, yet have your power." There was more than a note of bitterness in Owen's voice. I shuddered.

"Listen," he said, "when spring comes, you can move to another school, a better school. It's all girls, my cousin is an apprentice there. I will catch her in the square tomorrow and make arrangements. In the meanwhile, stay in your room…"

"With the door bolted," I finished for him.

"And Rowena?"

"Yes?"

"Take care." He smiled at me gently. I sighed as I watched him go. That evening, I did not practice my craft, but lay down on my mat to consider my future. At that point, I was skilled enough to catch glimpses of what was to come for me – a terrible battle, a shining ocean, the face of a child, a lone stag standing on a cliff – but I knew not what they meant. How little I knew of what was to come…

****

I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sounds of voices at the gate. Throwing on my cloak, I opened my door, and peered out of the crack, into the courtyard. It seemed to be a troop of soldiers, Jutes from the sound of their harsh accents, and for a moment I cowered away from the door, hiding my face from the flames of their torch light. But a moment later, I peered out in curiosity, as I saw Phineas approaching the gate. He unlocked it silently, and led the soldiers in.

I slipped silently from my doorway and peered into the hall. Confused and sleepy faces peered out from other doors. "What's going on?" a boy of only six or seven whispered. Just then, tramping footsteps echoed down the corridor. Fire light flickered against the walls, and I recalled, for the first time in years, my mothers fear of torches in the house. The soldiers rounded the corner, led by Phineas. He passed the gawking boys, leaving them open mouthed and hanging out their doors. They slowed, then stomped to a halt, directly in front of my chamber.

"This is the witch," said Phineas. "Take her."

For a moment, I was shocked. As a heavy hand grasped my wrist, I cried out. "Where are you taking me?"

Phineasanswered. "The Hengist is being generous enough to allow me to continue running my school, free of taxation or bother from his troops. His only request is that I send him each years most promising student. And that, Rowena," he said, his nasty grin accentuated in the flickering light, "would be you."

I felt my eyes widen, and I flailed out against my attackers. "What are you going to do with me?" I shouted. A tall man stepped forward, and the other soldiers parted away, relieving their hold on my arm. He removed his helmet, and bent down on one knee so that he was level with me. I stared directly at him. His face was shocking to my young eyes, dark and fierce. His hair and beard were wild, and looked as though they had been hacked at with a dull knife. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly. 

"My dear child," he said, with a heavy accent, "I hear you can divine the future."

For a moment I stood there mutely. Then I nodded.

"That," he continued slowly," is a wonderful skill. My own abilities do not even extend that far. To a warrior… or to a king," (his eye lit up with a strange fire as he said this), "this could prove to be a very powerful asset indeed."

We stood like this for several moments, his wild eyes searching my pale and stubborn face. "Will you come with me?" he asked finally. 

It all rushed to at once. I glanced up at Phineas's smirking face, and frowned defiantly. He had never really wanted me here, not in a way I would agree to, and this was his chance to get rid of me for once and for all. And for the first time in my life, I could use my knowledge to change lives. At the time I was not concerned with whose life, or how I would change it. I only wanted to know, to see, to tell. So, with out considering what I was doing, I took the rough hand of the Hengist, and followed him out of the school, chin held high. 

Never again would my life be the same. Never again would my heart be allowed rule over my head.

****

Eek! Did I scare everybody off with nasty old Phineas? I'm sorry, maybe I got a bit carried away. But please, tell me, what did you think? More of the school work, and less of her personal life? Eternal thanks to Gemini, my lone reviewer for chapter one! 


	4. The Hengist

*                                               *                                               *                                               * 

"Well, Rowena?" came the impatient voice. "What do you see?"

I bent over the foggy depths of the crystal, staring blankly and receiving nothing. "I have already told you," I said patiently, "that this is not the method of divining that I am accustomed to."

The Hengist had taken me to his stronghold, to the south-east of Londinium. I was sitting in the elegant study of a heavily barricaded castle, with a priceless crystal orb before me. My belly was full of rich foods and good wine, and for the first time in years, I was wearing a new, well-cut and pressed dress, finer indeed than anything I had owned before. What reason did I have to be unhappy, or to disobey my kind benefactor?

Yet here he was, the dark and brooding Hengist, staring at me intently. He had seen to it that I was quite happy with my surroundings before asking me to divine, or indeed, testing my magical skills at all. But now I was supposed to prove myself by showing him where the Picts would strike next.

"I cannot always search for a moment," I told him. "Usually they come to me, floating along like leaves in a river."

He furrowed his brow. "That will not do. Try again, and tomorrow we will see." He stood, the top of his ferocious head brushing against the ceiling, and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

I concentrated all my energy on the ball, waving my hands over it as I had seen the gypsies do. Still nothing. I stared at the ball until it bored into my skull, and I no longer saw it's surface, but instead, a million twinkling stars. I sighed, slumping back into my chair, and lay like that for quite some time.

Then I relaxed, my body, my arms, my hands and fingertips… all the way down to my toes. Reopening my eyes, I stood, raising my arms, and cried out in Latin…

"Winds, fours parts of one whole, obey me, come to me, seek my council! Salamander, Zephyr, Dusketha, Breama… I command you four! Four winds, four seasons, four elements, four names – I command you all: ARISE!"

Through the long, narrow windows came a great gust of wind enshrouding me. It beat me about, twirling me in a tight spiral. I remained calm, I did not cry out. Then – silence.

I opened my eyes. When I say this, I do not mean physically, for my eyes had remained open throughout the whirlwind. And yet, suddenly I could see, clearer than ever before. I was standing on a plain. It was springtime and wildflowers were blooming, scenting the air. I began to walk. 

I walked many days and nights and saw many things before I arrived at the scene I had been sent in search of. I came out of the bitter cold of winter, where the world had been cloaked in a blanket of white, with ice like cold diamonds glittering from the trees. There I arrived on a battlefield, used many times before. The bones of soldiers lay, sun-bleached and forlorn on the plain. The grass was low and dry, a scrubby surface. I bent down and picked up the dirt, inhaling deeply. It was a foreign scent. A lone raven flew overhead, circling the ruins. I called out to him.

"Tell me where I am, my friend!"

He circled once more, then swooped down and landed gently on my shoulder. "You are lost, dear child," he sang, "and far away from home. If you give me a token, I will tell you the way."

I nodded, and fished through my pocket for the piece of silver I had requested earlier. He plucked it out of my hand with his claw and examined it. "You are far to the north," he said, "almost to the borders of Caledonia. The natives are fleeing before a great army of pestilence that has been invading their land."

I furrowed my brow. "But the Jutes are saving Britannia from the Picts," I said. "The Picts are the pestilence."

The bird shrugged his glistening wings in a funny manner. "These people are of this land," he replied. "They are the chosen."

I frowned. "What day is this?"

"The 66th day of winter, of the year 453."

I nodded. "And from which way do the invaders come?"

"Your Jutes arrive from the south, and drive the people of Caledonia to the north," he said, admiring his silver.

"Thank you friend. You are free to go."

"As you wish," the raven replied, spreading his wings and flying away. I closed my eyes, and called up the winds, which were heavy and sick with the heat of the sun.

That night I requested my nurse to lead me to him. I repeated what the raven had told me. His eyes glittered strangely.

"May I ask you something?" I questioned, cautiously.

"Certainly," he replied.

I pressed my lips together. "Are the Picts really dangerous?"

His dark eyes grew wide, and he grinned. "Dangerous? My dear, they cut off the heads of children, and stick them on posts by the roadside, and you ask if they are dangerous! Yes my dear, they are a threat to your very way of life. We are here to save you, the Britons – do you see?"

I nodded.

He gently cuffed my cheek and smiled. "Thank you, Rowena. You are assisting in the good fight." He continued pining the small points onto the great map. When I craned over his shoulder to see, he said gently, "That will be all, Rowena,"

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

The dreams started not soon after that. I was lying in bed, lulling between sleep and awake, when a curious noise caught my attention.

There was a great crackling, and I cried out to my mother. I thought that someone was crumbling my beloved parchments into dust. Then I breathed in the smoke.

I opened my eyes. Great flames, all brilliant hues of red and yellow, flashed around me. In the air was the thick smell of burning hair, burning flesh. I cried out again as I realized that I was on fire. But I could not move, could not reach my wand. All I could do was scream.

That is, until the cold water was dashed upon me.

"Rowena!" cried my nurse, slapping my face. "Rowena! It's a dream lamb, only a dream!" 

The water shocked me to my senses. I sat up, gasping for air like a freshly caught fish. I sat in a puddle of water – my nightshirt was drenched, my hair plastered to my forehead, my bed was already reeking of wet straw and lambs wool.

I turned to the nurse. "Thank you," I said, swallowing deeply. "Now get me a basin, for I fear I will be ill."

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

It was many months before I was asked to see the Hengist again. Nurse knocked softly, then entered the room. "The Hengist requests an audience with you," she said. "Let's get you dressed."

I pulled on the heavy green dress, and nurse tied the back. After she was finished combing my hair, and I had found a suitable pair of slippers, she bid me rise. I followed her down one long hall, and then another. Her candle cast a spooky glow on the dark stone walls that made me think of the fairy stories I had been told as a small child. Finally, we arrived at a great oak door. It swung open before us.

The Hengist and his brother sat at the end of the hall. At their side stood a ragged messenger. But from his face, I could tell that he brought good tidings. The Hengist saw me and smiled.

"Well, Rowena, my little sibyl, it seems you were right! The Picts are fleeing with the approach of my cavalry. Well done! It seems you bring me good fortune." Then his tone grew more serious. "Would you consider joining my noble family?"

For a moment I was taken aback, thinking he wanted out of me the same thing that Phineas had requested. My face must have shown my shock, for he continued.

"I have always wished for a son, but it was not to be. My wife died, years ago in childbirth. She… and my son… are buried far away, across the sea. Yet I would love to have you as a daughter. What do you say, Rowena, child of Londinium? Are you willing to join my house?"

I couldn't help but smile with relief. "Yes sir."

"Father," he chortled, "Father, dear daughter!"

It was not until I returned to my room for the night, and had blown out my candle that I reflected upon that title. What would Bram of Ravenwood think of this? A wish had been granted, but in an unexpected way. I sighed into the night.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

After several weeks, I grew more familiar with the castle, and it's passageways. Daily I would explore, and each day I would find something new and just as interesting as the last. In fact, I was in search of the library when I ran across something almost as entrancing.

I wandered down another drafty hall, and into a large room. The walls were hung with tapestries, and at the top of the room was a long table. I knew this must be where they held the great feasts, with dancing and music afterwards. Quite an exciting event, from what I had heard. I walked to the center of the room, and twirled, examining it in all directions. My light footsteps echoed in the great space. I smiled.

"Good evening, gentle sir," I said, curtsying low to the invisible partner in front of me. Then I lifted my palm in the air, and turned a few tight circles, as I had seen the ladies do in festivals in the square, weaving in and out in lines. "Pom-pom-pom," I mouthed, letting breathes of air escape in a weak imitation of the music. "Pom-pom-pom."

I was halfway through a twirl when I noticed him. Immediately, I straightened, holding down my swirling skirt.

He had been standing in the doorway, for how long, I was not certain. He was smiling though, and he spoke in a pleasant voice.

"Good day madam. Were you admiring the hall?"

I blushed scarlet, but answered. "Yes, in fact, that is exactly what I was doing."

He strode forth into the room, and sighed, staring up at the high ceiling. "I'm afraid it's a bit lonesome in here when a feast day is long past."

I nodded silently. He raised a hand to his chin, and stroked his neat beard thoughtfully. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance. What might your name be?"

I shook my head, embarrassed that I had forgotten my manners. "Rowena. My name is Rowena."

"Ah," he tilted back his head, and looked at me more thoughtfully. "The Hengist's daughter."

I blushed once more. "Yes, that's right."

"Well, Rowena," he said, bowing deeply, "may I escort you in this dance?"

My cheeks were aflame, but I laughed as well. "Certainly, kind sir."

He was a good dancer, quite hard to keep up with. But, by some bit of luck, I managed, completing the final pass palm to palm, staring directly into his blue eyes. Although he was a good bit older than me, I realized I was almost his height. I had grown quite a bit in recent years. When he finally bowed, I realized the dance was over.

"Well, lovely Rowena, I must be on my way. I have a great many things to attend to."

I stood smiling in the center of the floor and watched him until he reached the door. Then I realized I had forgotten to ask…

"Oh, sir! Pardon me for asking, but – what is your name?"

He stopped again in the doorway and turned. "I am Vortigern, king of Britannia. Good day Rowena."

And with that he left.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

Several times in my life with the Hengist, I asked to be taken to the battlefront. I wanted to see if it were truly as awful as I saw it to be. Everything seemed sharper in the world between the winds – the colors, the smell of dried blood, the heat and bitter cold, the feel of the silver that I offered to my ravens in my hand. But each time I asked, the Hengist refused. "You are too young, too delicate, Rowena," he would say.

The first time this happened I had crossed my arms and pouted. "Too young to see it in life, but I have to live it very night in my dreams."

He looked at me sharply. "What dreams?"

Now that I had his attention, I could play coy. I shrugged. "Only dreams."

He grabbed me by the arms, a bit roughly, and gazed directly into my eyes. "What dreams, Rowena." It was a command, not a question. I quailed.

"Horrible dreams," I said. "Of my village burning. Of fire and green lights that strike people dead."

He nodded. "Yes. All that happens in battle."

"But this is not a battle," I cried. "It's my village, or one just like it."

He shrugged. "There are many villages, Rowena, many villages. But there is only one battle." 

He spoke no more about my dreams, but continued to press me about the location of the Picts. But gradually, his questions became more peculiar. He wanted to know of goings-on in the east, asking about a band of deserters. "All Britons," he told me, "taking refuge in small towns along the way. I wish to stop them before they reach Cambria, and show them the price of betrayal." And I continued to help him, knowing not what I was doing.

Aside from the divinations, I lived the life of a lady of the court. I dressed well, ate well, had my own servants, attended parties as they did. It was in the spring, at one of these parties, that I saw Vortigern again.

He was standing, away from the crowd, surrounded by ladies of the court, all hoping to become Queen before the year was out. He looked unhappy. He caught my eye, and nodded, but did not smile. There was a sudden whispering all about me, from other ladies who had seen the nod. They giggled behind their pale hands. I looked at them in distain. I had never grown used to giggling. I decided to escape to my favorite haunt.

The royal library was large for the day, though most of the books in it were quite dull. But it was still a good place to go and think, a place little used by the court.

As I sat down with a thick tome, I heard a distinct footstep upon the slate floor. I drew my hand into my robes, clutching my wand. I was always afraid of attackers. I anxiously awaited the intruders next step.

I gave a sigh of relief when I saw the king. "Oh," I breathed, "it's only you."

My voice carried across the room, and he caught every word, raising his head in mock surprise. "Only me?"

"I meant… I thought…" For the first time in my life, I was tongue-tied. He smiled.

"Who were you expecting? The Picts perhaps?"

I shook my head at this, looking away out the window at the party.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

"I wanted to be alone," I responded simply.

He exhaled. "Yes, I know what that is like. But sometimes one's duty requires otherwise."

I nodded. "I am happy to be free of duties."

He looked at me sharply. "But you are not," he said. "You serve the Hengist."

"I assist him," I replied, "out of my own good will."

He raised an eyebrow, then tried a different tack. "Your father – your true father, I mean – was a Lord, was he not?"

"Yes, but he married my mother, a commoner, which prohibits my ladyship. But then again," I said with a slight smile, "I suppose if I were a lady I would be required to be down at the ball."

"And who would required you?" he asked.

I thought for a moment. "You, I suppose."

"And what if I required you, simple Rowena, to attend?"

"I would not be bound by my rank to obey."

He hid a smile. "And what if I asked politely, like a true gentleman."

"Then," I said, "perhaps I would accept."

He laughed. "You have become quite a woman, little Rowena."

"Thank you, good sir," I responded.

"Good sir, is it? I thought you were not a lady."

"One does not have to be a lady to be lady-like, sir."

He was about to respond when a horn sounded. "Damn," he cursed. "They're calling me." Then he turned to me and bowed. "Fare thee well, good Rowena."

I stood to curtsy. "Fare thee well, my King."

I did not see him again until fall of that year, at the harvest banquet. Many extra rows of tables had been set up around the dance floor, and I was sitting by the Hengist, on the right side of the hall. I had been enjoying the grace of the dancers when my adoptive father spoke.

"Rowena, dear, if my eyes serve me well, I see you have attracted the attention of someone who's station is greater than I could hope."

I raised my eyebrows, certain that he was jesting.

The Hengist only nodded, looking straight ahead. I glanced up. There, on his throne, sat Vortigern, staring down at us. He nodded deeply, his blue eyes betraying no emotion. "How can you tell?" I whispered, playing along.

"He has been watching you all evening. And he has refused to dance, which is quite unlike him."

A memory of a young girl and her partner dancing in this room several years before came to mind. I smiled inwardly. 

The Hengist continued. "If we put our heads together on his… and if all goes well… in due time, he will ask for your hand in marriage."

"And what will I say to this proposal?" I laughed, a bit indignant.

"Yes." I looked at my adoptive father. There was no humor in his eyes. My laughter was silenced.

"You are my daughter, Rowena," he continued, "but I must ask you to do this, for the sake of peace in Britannia. Vortigern is a pleasant enough fellow, and he will treat you well, but he will soon forget his debt to us if some bond is not made hastily. You must understand, the future of this country lies to the east. I need your help Rowena – for peace, dear girl, you must help me."

I closed my eyes, my brow furrowing, yet I nodded.

"Very good," he whispered, in a conspiratorial manner. "I'm sure he will exchange his crown for the beauty of my daughter. I will begin my arrangements tonight." And with that, he lifted a finger, and beckoned a servant.

"Tell the good king that Hengist wishes a dance partner for his lovely daughter." The page nodded, and scurried off to relay the message. Vortigern's eyes brightened visibly as he received the news. He looked at me and smiled. I averted my eyes, but smiled demurely. I knew how to play games, even if I took no fun from them.

As Vortigern approached the table, and held out his hand, the Hengist raised his bushy brows and whispered…

"Remember, Rowena… for peace in Britannia."

I nodded and let my king sweep me away.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

"Hand me the chain, would you Enid?"

The nurse scuttled away from the looking glass where I stood, comb in one hand, inspecting myself. There was to be another party tonight, for an unspecified holiday. I was certain that the Hengist had a hand in it somehow. I was wearing a fine dress of deep blue, lined with animals woven of green, red and gold ribbons. My dark hair was up and dressed with several chains already, and my nurse and I had been contemplating the addition of yet another. As a curl pushed loose, I slicked it back into place with water from the basin. Nurse wound the chain around my head.

"Whoops!" She fumbled to retrieve the end she had dropped over my forehead. I brushed her hand aside.

"Leave it, I like the look of it. In fact… hand me that pendant, over there. Yes, that's it. Now let me have it."

Gingerly, I worked the golden clasp around the chain, so that the brooch hung between my brows like a diadem.

"Loverly, marm," she crowed gleefully. "Every knight will want to dance with you this evening."

"And every king," I murmured under my breath, "if everything goes well." 

Indeed, it was at that ball that he asked me if I had his permission to speak to his father. I agreed, and they stayed up late into the night, discussing my fate behind closed doors. Eventually I grew weary of my waiting, and retired to bed. In the morning, the Hengist visited me in my chamber.

"It's just another battle, my dear," he said wearily. "I have delayed his request for marriage. It will whet his appetite, and make him desire you even more." He saw me frown at this. "I know dear… but soon all of this will be over, and you will be Queen, and I will hold Britannia in my hand."

I said nothing as he turned to leave, but thought to myself that no matter how hard he tried, Britannia would merely slip between his fingers like dust, no matter how hard he tightened his grip.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

Vortigern's proposal was not at all how I had imagined. He had been holding council with the Hengist for several weeks now, long deliberate talks that I felt for certain could not be about me. But not soon after, he caught me in the corridor. He was breathless, as if he had been running a long distance to catch up with me. I greeted him with a smile. "Good day my king."

"Good day, fair Rowena," he responded. "Could I ask your assistance in a matter that has been troubling me?"

"That depends on the matter," I responded.

"I have lost a few simple baubles, though they are very dear to me. I was wondering if you could help me find them?"

I knew he was playing games, but I decided to play along. "And where did you see this treasure last?" I inquired.

"Well," he said, raising a brow, "I happen to have here a map that leads to the treasure, but I need help deciphering it."

"Mmm-hmm…"

"Here," he said, thrusting it into my hands. "See what you can make of it."

It was a simple map really, of the castle, and the forest that surrounded it. The trail led outside. I started walking, and he followed, his smile growing with each step.

We reached the point in the lawn where the trail ended, at the edge of the woods. I examined the tree in front of me. It was widely known to be the oldest tree on the property. I looked up at it's leaves. Blooming amongst them was a single crimson flower. I turned to Vortigern.

"Pray, hand me that flower good sir."

He did so.

Of course, there was a verse wrapped around the stem. I unraveled it. He peered over my shoulder as I read aloud…

"_Come find me in the forest green,_

_The rarest flower to be seen,_

_And follow me, if will recall,_

_To the waters by the…_

"Fall," I finished where the parchment did not. It was a simple verse, quite transparent, yet charming. I led the way to the fall, less than half way down the stream that ran into the castle moat. There, Vortigern took me by the hand. "I have a confession to make," he said.

"That this has all been an elaborate ruse?" I responded, brow cocked.

He smiled at me. "Very good, milady. Now, I have something to show you, though I'm afraid your dress may get a bit wet."

Holding my hand tightly, he made his way across the front of the falls, the water spraying us with it's cool mist. Then, with a sudden yank from his firm hand, my feet left the ground, and I was behind the waterfall, and in his arms.

"Pardon me," said, rather embarrassed as he set me down. "Now excuse me while I go retrieve your prize." He hurried to the back of the cave, and came back holding a locked chest. "Oh, Damn!" he said suddenly, "I've forgotten the key."

"No need," I said, bringing out my wand. "Alohomora." The box swung open. Vortigern's eye's darted between my wand and me. He knew what I was, but still, I could tell he was nervous. I ignored this, and instead peered into the chest. "Lumos," I whispered. 

"Rowena," he said, catching my chin before I looked down, "would you accept the honor of becoming Britannia's next queen, the honor of being my wife?" I lowered my eyes.

The glitter astounded me at once. The box he held out was full of precious jewels – golden rings for fingers and ears, and chains for necks. Diadems to adorn one's brow, and purse covers adorned with intricate animals – birds and wild beasts. I traced the form of an eagle with a gentle finger. "I accept," I whispered, just as I had been instructed to do.

He reached into the chest, and drew out a heavy ring, encrusted with precious jewels. He placed it gently on my head. "Lady Rowena, Queen of Britannia," he said in a soft voice. I couldn't help but smile.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

We were married on a Sunday, at the end of May, in a procession with flowers and carriages. There was a great feast afterwards, and a celebration with dancing and games. Children ran about the maypole, and even the dogs joined in the festivities. Minstrels came form miles around, and musical groups played in every square across the city. It was a day of national celebration. I wondered if my mother would hear the news, as I sat at the high table, holding my bridegrooms hand.

He smiled down at me lovingly. For him this had been more than a deal, it had been something he had wanted for quite some time. He had whispered this to me in the forest a few days earlier, as he had scooted across the middle of the bench, toward me, entwining his fingers with mine.

And I respected him, even if I did not love him the way he loved me. That would come in time, I supposed. I was only sixteen, after all.

Now he tugged at my hand impatiently, pointing to the mime in front of us. He laughed as people began to boo, and throw their dinners at the poor fellow. I hid my smile with a delicate hand. Over the course of four years I had managed to become a lady. I looked down and smoothed my dress. The blossoms from the wreath in my hair were beginning to wilt and fall over my dress, covering the purple velvet and the white linen with golden petals. He distracted me by pulling up my hand, and kissing it's back. Onlookers cheered. I smiled graciously at him, then used my free hand to wave at the crowd.

"Lady Rowena, Queen of Britannia," a herald called out, ignoring the fact that my new husband was merely a puppet figure and the other fact that Britannia was no longer – and would never again be – the place the name referred to.

There were to be eleven more days of these festivities, and already my smile was growing fixed. But today was the most important day – and tonight even more important. As Vortigern led me to his chamber that evening, I put away any dreams I had once had. I was Queen, what more could one hope for? For the sake of the Hengist, for the peace of my country, I would submit myself. As he gently unhooked the brooch at my shoulder, I closed my eyes, and saw only there a crown. 

*                                               *                                               *                                               *


	5. The Britons

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

The wheels of the carriage rumbled over the dry road, jolting us this way and that. I stared out the window forlornly at the blackened battlefields that lined the road on either side. The Hengist had finally invited me to come see a battle, now that he was so certain of victory. The band of Briton soldiers had been defeated again and again, and were fleeing to the mountains of Cambria. The Hengist planned to trap them there, and make Britannia his.

I was traveling with my husband, but we were not speaking. The past two years had aged him greatly – the effects of losing his crown, and seeing his people run off by the Jutes were finally showing. And in two years, I had still not learned to love him. I shivered in the chill morning air, wrapping my cloak around me tighter.

"Close the window," he murmured, gazing out of the window on the other side of the carriage. "You'll catch your death of cold."

I pretended not to hear him over the noise of the wheels. Instead I focused my attention out the window. I was facing back toward the east, from whence we had come. It was still very early in the spring, and the land was recovering from a harsh winter. Certainly, the weather had been favorable for the Hengist's campaign, I thought. His soldiers were used to cold, hard winters, where the Britons were not. 

The countryside had been one battlefields after another, marking the Hengist's progress. As we journeyed further west, the ground became blacker. Ash blew from the fields, across the land, kicking up clouds of dust. The smell of smoke grew ever present. Occasionally we would pass skeletons of soldiers, from both sides. As we traveled toward the setting sun, these bodies grew progressively more gruesome. Birds circled overheard, some landing to perch on the bodies and peck at the remaining flesh. 

Along the desolate road we passed an occasional sentry, and would usually stop and ask him the latest news from the front. But as we wound further to the west, toward my homeland, the soldiers often walked in troops, with prisoners of war chained between them. Now we were passing an especially long chain of bedraggled peasants, some chained hand and foot. We must be nearing the front, I decided. Then I noticed the peculiar  thing – the chain was marching away from Londinium, toward the west. I must ask the Hengist about this when I arrive, I told myself.

I gazed down at the group. They were mostly men, but there were women and children and elderly along as well. There faces were lean and pale, with a haunted look – the look of one who has seen terrible suffering, even death. I began to turn away, but one face from the crowd struck my mind, at that very instant.

It was a face I recognized, like a long forgotten friend. Perhaps I had seen it in my travels through time. She was a wisp of a woman, trudging down the road like the rest of them. She leaned on the arm of a tall man for support, a man who looked more like her brother than her husband – I could only tell his true relation to her by the tender way he supported her. They were both emaciated, like walking skeletons. Both had black hair – hers long and wildly flowing, his short and shot with silver. He wore an exceptionally long beard. The woman raised her eyes to mine. They were dark and shadowed, yet burning, like coals in the fire. I felt my lips part, I wanted to reach out to her, to console her. Her husbands eyes darted up, shots of silver. He put his arm around her protectively. It was only then that I realized that she was with child.

I quickly leaned back against my seat, my eyes flashing over to Vortigern, praying he had not seen me watching her. My husband was beginning to think that I was unable to bear him an heir. In fact, I was quite able, but I took certain magical precautions that would not allow me to have a child. Somewhere, in the back of my conscience, I knew that it was not suppose to be, not yet. I would have plenty of time in later years.

We stopped to camp for the night atop a flat, dry hill. In the morning, we continued our monotonous journey. I stared out the window, hour after hour, my eyes passing over soldiers and prisoners, twists in the road and far away mountains. Then suddenly – 

"Oh!" I cried out, turning behind me, and opening the door to speak to the driver. "Stop the carriage! Stop it at once!"

They must have thought me mad. Vortigern twisted about in his seat, mouth half open in a silent curse. I wrenched open the door and hopped out of the carriage before he had a chance to hold up an arm to restrain me.

My smile spread as I ran across the barren plain to the great circle I had stood by years before. I stopped at the edge of the ring, daring not to intrude before I offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. When I was done, I raised my head to the sky, and gently touched one of the monoliths. I was home.

The sound of running footsteps interrupted my silent reverie. The driver, Vortigern, the soldiers that had flanked the caravan for protection… all had rushed out after me. They arrived, panting, wondering what on earth I was doing. Vortigern looked at me as if I had gone mad. I smiled.

"This is it," I told him. "This is the great circle I have spoken to you about."

The corners of Vortigern's mouth curled up at me as he struck one of the rocks with his sword that he had drawn from it's sheath. "So this is your wondrous memorial," he said. "Impressive. I have always wanted to see it with my own eyes. Perhaps the Hengist can use it to see the outcome of the battle, no? Why not give it a try?" He laughed, a rather dry bitter laugh, and spit on the ground at the very center of the ring. His face contorted as he hissed, "Curse the sorcery of this heap of rubble, the same as has allowed my downfall –  Let it be damned!"

I flinched, but held my ground firmly and turned so that he could not see my expression.

Just then, the ground rumbled beneath my feet. I swayed, but righted myself, grasping to one of the great grey stones for support. I looked to the heavens, and saw a miraculous sight. The light of the sun was fading, yet at the same time, it became more brilliant than ever before. I shielded my eyes from it's blinding glare. When I looked again, the fiery orb had all but disappeared, save a glistening ring of rays like a celestial crown, colored in every shade imaginable. I turned to the king. 

His face shone through the darkness, ghostly pale. It was then I knew, I no longer felt any bond between myself and this man; this quivering creature who trembled at the power of the very thing he pretended to defy. He was no longer the ruler who I had married. I had respected that man, even if I had not loved him. But this Vortigern, stripped of land and power, was unrecognizable. He was malformed by bitterness and hatred. He cowered at the darkness, like a small child. 

Still, I did not make my decision until three days later. After crossing the river, we stopped to camp. The water, the stillness except for the gentle rustle of the wings of the birds spoke to me. In my heart, I knew I was close to home – Ravenwood was nearby. That evening, while the men were busy eating their supper, and laughing over the battle to come, I slipped out into the forest. It was dark, but I did not need a torch or a lantern to walk the path. I knew it as a blind man, just by the sounds and smells. They had refused to change, constants in my spinning world. As I neared the village, I grew more and more excited, my heart leapt wildly in my chest. I broke loose from the trees, and made my way over the hills, trekking toward the low mountains over which the sun had long set. 

I sensed it before seeing it. I should have realized earlier on, as I missed the sounds of the ravens cries echoing over the glen and through the woods. As I topped the crest of the final hill, I cast my eyes to the gentle valley where once there had been houses and farms and the sounds of children laughing, and music playing. Gaping ghosts of ruins stared back at me with their empty eyes.  No warm fire burned in a hearth where I had planned to spend the night, at a neighbors, or (perhaps wishfully) at my mothers. But there was no life in the valley, save a few patches of low heather, growing out of stone walls where nothing else could root. Ravenwood had been leveled, scorched by the flames of fire. I had seen the scene before, and cast my eyes away from it. When it had played again in my dreams, I had believed it only to be my guilty soul giving me my penance. I had never imagined it to be a vision rather than a memory. 

I entered the house closest to the edge of the village. I pushed aside the door, which creaked on it's blackened hinges. I peered into the darkness, and recoiled at what I saw. Still at the dinner table were three bodies – A man, his wife, and a young girl. The girl's skeletal hand still clasped a wooden chalice, her arm outstretched, and her head lying face down. Dark hair still clung to her scalp. All three bodies were blackened, yet they looked as if they had been caught in the middle of supper, too surprised to even move from the table. I bowed my head, recognizing the signs of a curse. I consoled myself with the fact that they had not suffered. 

All in all, I counted three and three score bodies. The other houses were the same, but not everyone had had such a merciful death. Bodies lay in the street, where they had fallen after catching fire. A small dog lay curled into a ball, his body virtually unmarked. I smiled bitterly, my face unconsciously echoing Vortigern's expression as he had cursed magic. The Hengist was cruel, crueler than I had ever let myself know. The chance of the deaths – dogs who had been allowed to die by the killing curse, and people who had been left to burn in agony. I felt ill – not in the way one would think, but as if my heart had ripped itself in two, and was holding on by a few bloody threads.

I found a small hut at the foot of the mountains. It had not been badly burnt, as it looked as if the dwelling had been abandoned years before. I scraped away cobwebs, and made myself a bed from the straw which had fallen from the hole in the roof through which the stars shone. In the morning, when I rose, I continued in my path to the west, up into the mountains, toward Cambria. I refused to turn back to look at the rising sun. 

It took several days to reach the base of the great mountain at which the Britons were camped. The terrain was rockier than I remembered, and several times I tripped over my long robes, or slid down a rocky path in my delicate slippers. By the end of my journey, the hem of my dress was tattered, and my hair blew freely around my face. I smiled at my reflection in the pool where I had stopped to take a drink. I was free again, for the first time since I had left home, ten long years ago. How they had seemed an eternity.

By nightfall, I reached the top of a crest, and gazed into the valley below. It was a camp to be certain – but the mood was quite different from the one I had just left. The scene looked the same: rows and circles of tents, hidden between trees, and small fires over which dinner was roasting and boiling away in pots. As the smell wafted up to me, my stomach growled. I realized that I hadn't eaten in days. Children stood patiently in line, waiting for mothers to serve them dinner in their wooden bowls. There was a peace over the camp, but a quiet peace – almost too quiet. The laughter and music that had followed on late into the night at the Jute camp was absent here. Not even a lullaby drifted sweetly through the air. The only song being sung was the whispering of the wind in the trees.

After considering how I could make my entrance for several moments, I decided to walk down and talk to some of the women. But as I approached, they shooed the children away into the tents, faces dark.

"Good evening," I began, trying to keep my voice steady and pleasant. "I have come bearing information about the advancing army. I would like to request an audience with your leader."

As soon as the words left my lips, I cursed to myself for my blunder. Request an audience? That was not the way to speak to be accepted by these people. I spoke like a princess – had I truly forgotten from whence I had come?

A stout lady with a hardened face had stepped forward as I had spoken. Now she stood there with her arms crossed, and said not a word, but stared directly at me. Usually, I would have stared straight back, defiant to her silence, but something in her eyes forced me to lower my gaze to the ground like a cowardly dog. She motioned to a younger lady, thin and frail, who disappeared off toward the next group of tents.

Within moments, she had returned, bringing with her several burly men, armed with farmer's tools – scythes and pitchforks. The largest of the men spoke.

"Igraine tells us that you want to see the leader of the Britons. Pray tell, who sent you?"

I flinched at the mockery in his voice, but answered, "I have come of my own accord with information that may help you defeat the Jutes."

One of the woman, with a mess of straw colored hair, whispered loudly. "She has the accent that _they_ do." Several others murmured in assent.

I turned to face her. "I have come to help you. The Hengist is camped a good walk of seven days to the east. They are overly confidant in their ability to win this battle, but with my knowledge of their plans – " 

I was cut off as someone cried, "She's a spy!"

I felt my temper rise. "I am not a spy, I left the Jute camp and journeyed here of my own accord, as I told you!"

The circle drew in closer, the men holding their torches high. I had an urge to grab my wand from my cloak, but I resisted. Instead, I turned back to the leader of the group.  "Please," I implored. "I want to help. They have destroyed all I have as well – my village, my family…"

For a moment, I thought he was going to believe me. The rest of the crowd watched, glancing back and forth between our faces intently. Then the murmur rose again.

"Trying to make us pity her, I expect…"

"…listen to her voice, she isn't from a village…"

"She sounds like a lady of the court – Vortigern's crowd…"

"One of the Hengist's traps, of course…"

I wanted to scream, to cry, to curse them all. Couldn't they see? I would have made such an obvious trap, especially if they had known my true identity. But I suspected that they would lock me up even sooner if I told them my title was Lady Rowena, Queen of Britannia. Former queen by now, I supposed, my husband a mere puppet crown, and a good weeks journey away.

"What is your name?" the man asked.

"Rowena," I responded, lifting my chin and staring him straight in the eye. "Rowena of Ravenwood."

"Well, Rowena of Ravenwood, for our safety, and for your own, I think it best if we hold you until our own men return with their reports. I trust you will come along easily now, and not make trouble for us."

I folded my hands behind me, and head held high, followed him. We stopped not in front of a tent, but a small cabin, deeper in the forest. I was led in, and the door shut firmly behind me. I turned in time to hear a heavy bar being pushed into place, and the man's gruff voice. "You there, stay there and keep watch until Lion-heart returns."

I sank down to the floor, and held my head gingerly between my fingers. How long would this take? The Hengist's army could be here in a matter of days, and here I was, the hope for the Britons, locked up in their detention chamber. I glanced about. The building actually wasn't very bad, the roof had been newly thatched, and it was rather cozy. I wondered where the generals headquarters was – if this bunch of peasants had managed to find a general. If I knew, I could slip out in the night. But if I couldn't find him, if that plan failed, and I was found sneaking about, they would surely believe I was a spy, and then they would never accept my help. I sighed in frustration. Their lookouts had better return soon. Until then, I had no wise choice but to sit and wait.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

            For several days I followed this plan. Twice a day, a woman would come in, and silently hand me a bowl of gruel or stew, depending on the time of day. She had entered ten times, meaning that the next morning would be my sixth day. I could wait no longer. I wrapped my dark blue cloak around me, hoping to hide all the white of my dress, and pointed my wand at the door. "Alohomora," I whispered, and gently pushed my way outside.

The night air blew my hair gently astray as I lifted my hood, exposing my face the cool breeze. I lifted my eyes to the moon, as if searching for a sign. I raised my hands in the air, threw back my head, and closed my eyes. I whispered the words of the parchment, words once foreign to my lips, now known, repeated them again and again, as if it were a song. All around me, whispers echoed my chant. A sharp current of air dove past, a whispering spirit, then another, from a different direction. Soon they surrounded me, a hurricane of whispers, a ghostly choir. I opened my eyes and looked toward the east. 

A silent cavalcade poured over the ridge from whence I had come – the Hengist's horsemen. I turned my head to the south. An army on foot, armed with bows and arrows stopped atop the ridge. And finally, as I looked to the west, I gasped at the sight of yet another legion of soldiers, this group armed with catapults. In the early morning dream-light, the Hengist's forces descended upon the camp. My hand flew to my mouth as I saw giant balls of flame rip apart tents. A great wail rose up from the camp…  men, bleary-eyed, stumbled out of bed, only to be cut in half by the Jutes on their great armored horses. The Hengist had led the cavalry down the mountain, and was casting his staff here and there, laughing as the green light felled the Britons. I forced myself to watch as the survivors ran to the north, pursued by the army. I looked back down to the camp, to the burning skeletons and the bloody bodies. I couldn't take it anymore. I collapsed, clawing at the dirt. Tears stung my eyes as I tried to contain the wail that was welling up inside of me. The winds ceased, and I returned to the present, lying on the ground in front of my hut. 

For a long while I lay breathing in and out, as if I had forgotten how and was learning once again. Painfully, I regained my breath. I lifted my eyes to see bobbing lights. For a moment, stupidly, I thought they were fireflies or fairies. As my vision cleared, I saw what they truly were – people carrying torches, rushing to the spot where I had fallen.

For the next few days, I drifted in and out of slumber. They now kept a watch by my door, and a woman sat by me in the room as I fell in and out of the dreams. I'm sure she thought I was mad, speaking in foreign tongues of things she had never seen or thought to exist.

When I finally awoke, it was to the sound of beating hooves, coming directly by my cabin. The woman jumped up, and ran out the door, leaving it wide open. The guard abandoned me too. I rose, still half in a dream, to see what the commotion was.

I wandered out into the clearing. There stood five men, mounted on horses. They must be the scouts, I thought blearily. Have they confirmed my news yet?

One of the scouts spoke. "They are tracking us, on foot and horse, to the south and the east! We must go toward the mountains immediately!" There was a murmur of assent, and a sudden scramble to prepare.

"No!" My voice rang through the words, clear as a bell. I was fully awake now. "If you go west, you meet certain doom! They are coming from that direction, slower, but they will be here soon. They are armed with great catapults, and will burn you to the ground!"

The horsemen turned. "Who is this?" one of them shouted.

The woman rushed forward. "She's only an enemy spy sir, don't mind what she says!"

"I swear to you," I gasped, "if you go west, you will end the rebellion, and Britannia will fall into the hands of the Jutes. If you want to survive, you must go north!" By this point men were grabbing my arms, holding me back as if I would strike out at the five.

The tallest of the horsemen held up his hand. "Let her go," he said calmly. "Her words ring with a certain truth."

The Britons gaped at him. I straightened myself, brushing at the dust that caked my dress. "Thank you," I said. 

"Who are you?" the horseman asked. I noticed that while the four other scouts were quite fair, with light hair and blue eyes, he was dark, like a Pict or a Jute. Yet I knew I could trust him.

"I am Rowena of Ravenwood. I was born in Cambria, but have been in Londinium for the past ten years. I have first hand knowledge that the Hengist was planting troops to the south and the east, and I have seen his troops in the west as well." I did not bother to explain exactly how I had seen them, but waited to see if he would believe me.

He nodded briefly to one of the other scouts, a man with hair so sun-bleached it was almost white in contrast with his ruddy face. The man nodded back. "We head north at once!" he proclaimed.

The women and the children were first to go, accompanied by their husbands and fathers. The rest stood guard on the crest, waiting until they were safely into the forest, several miles away. I stayed with the horsemen. They did not speak, in fact, the only noise on the ridge was that of the horses snuffling and stomping. Yet their eyes looked toward the horizon warily. They watched on into the night. One of the men finally looked down, and said kindly, "You should get some rest. We will watch, and wake you if we must leave."

I sat on the grass, knees pulled to my chin, but could not sleep.

It was almost morning when the Jutes arrived. In the dark, they set up their phalanxes on the three sides of the valley. If we had not known they would be there, they would have gone unnoticed until day break. By then it would have been too late.

Putting his finger to his lips, the dark rider backed his horse silently down the hill. The others followed suit. We had almost reached the bottom when a twig snapped to our right. We all turned. The enemy had spotted us. The men on foot broke out toward the woods in a sprint as the battle horn was blown. The riders turned. The dark rider grabbed my hand. "Quickly now… you cannot run in that dress." He hoisted me up, onto the horses back. Then he took off. The horse was as fast as the wind, and I held onto the rider for dear life.

The small band of Jutes pursued us only to the woods. There they stopped, waiting for reinforcements to continue the chase. We were well on our way by the time we got started. We rode until we reached a craggy outcropping of rock that loomed high above the river. There, the riders dismounted, and led their horses toward the cliff face. The dark rider helped me down. I looked up at the great rock, uncertain of where we were to be heading. "Can you swim?" asked the dark rider.

I nodded. I had had to ford rivers before, and had quickly learned how to stay afloat. 

We crossed the water, which never became very deep. At it's peak, it reached my shoulders. I followed two of the riders to the rock, the other three bringing up the rear. My heavy dress was now dragging with the extra weight the water had given it. I slipped and one of the riders caught me. We climbed into a crevice in the rock, it's angle hidden across the river. We climbed higher, until we reached a large cave. I stumbled in, and was met by a host of wide-eyed creatures. This was where the Britons had come to hide. A small child gazed up at me. His mother hugged him close, as if I were a child-eating hag. I stayed toward the front of the cave with the scouts

From the cave, we could not see the Jute horsemen, but we could hear the steady clip-clop as they passed by. The scouts slipped out of the cave and down the rock face silently. They were gone for many hours, but when they returned, they brought along the good news that the Jutes had turned back to the south-east, and had made no signs of coming back. 

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

We emerged from the caves several days later, and life as it was in the Briton camp returned to usual. A few of the ladies begrudgingly accepted me when I offered to help with the wash and mending of clothes. They presented me with a more practical set of robes, which I gladly took. I was starting to enjoy the routine of things – it was like being back in Ravenwood – when I was called upon. The leader of the Britons wanted to see me.

I was highly skeptical. I had seen no leader in that last flight. It had seemed thoroughly uncalculated. However, I went, following Igraine to the clearing in the forest. Four of the riders stood there. I looked around for the fifth, realizing him to be my dark rider. 

Suddenly, there he was in front of me. He laughed as I jumped, hand flying to my mouth. "Sorry to frighten you, Rowena," he said, "but I enjoy my secrecy now and then. Tell me, how did you know the position of the Hengist's troops?"

I glanced around at the four horsemen. "I already told you," I answered simply.

He followed my eyes to the pale faces of the Britons. "Excuse us for a moment," he said. They nodded, and left.

Once they had gone, he let out a small noise, almost like a sigh, but not quite. "They are good fellows," he said, "and I chose them not only because they are able to practice magic, but because they are loyal, and trustworthy. They would die for me, and I for them, even though we are not of the same country."

I looked at him questioningly.

"No, I am not from Britannia," he said, shaking his head.

"Then why do you fight for us?" I questioned.

"I am from Caledonia," he answered, "though my mother was from Cambria. The Hengist began his campaign of terror along the northern borders. He burnt our villages, destroyed our crops, killed our men, tortured our women and children. My own village was attacked, while I was away. I still do not know what happened to my loved ones. I will fight against the Hengist until I find what happened to them, or until one of us perishes in battle."

I was silent.

"You can trust me," he said. "I heeded your word back at our camp, did I not?"

This seemed to bring me back to the reason I was here. I felt myself bristle.

"A fine leader you are," I said, "running off with your scouts and leaving the camp unprotected."

"My men were at the camp. And they are good men, simple, but good. Just because they failed to listen to you does not make them evil. They were wary of you. Why not? A stranger, with the accent of the court, dressed in fine robes, comes into camp and tells them exactly where the Hengist will strike?" He was up and pacing now. "Sounds suspicious to me."

I sighed in exasperation. "And that is exactly why they should have trusted me!"

He stopped and looked at me. "These people have seen their children die, their towns destroyed. They have good reason to be cautious. And they are loyal. They wanted our word before any decision was made."

"Their loyalty will be their downfall," I said, massaging my brow.

He shook his head. "You do not see, madam, that their loyalty is the only thing that keeps them alive. Haven't you ever had something to live for?"

His question struck me a full blow. "No," I said resignedly. "I don't suppose I have." I sighed once more, this time in defeat. "I am a lady of the court, in a sense," I began. "I also served the Hengist for many years through my divination, though I had no idea what he used the knowledge I had given him for. I managed to escape on my way from Londinium, and made my way here to warn these people."

"And what made this sudden change?" he asked.

"I too have seen my village burnt and destroyed, my heart and my home, that my father founded himself," I responded.

He lowered his eyes. "I am sorry," he said.

I shook my head, embarrassed. "Don't be," I said, "you have suffered the same as I. I want to help, not dwell on the past."

He knelt and took my hand, kissing the back of it gently. "Wise words, Lady Rowena of Ravenwood. Godric of Gryffindor welcomes you to the camp of the Britons."

"How may I be of service?" I asked.

"You are a seer, you said?"

"Of sorts," I replied, with an inward smile. "What would you like to know?

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

 "Right over that ridge there, see? Between the two clumps of trees?"

I nodded. I was part of a mission, a rather risky mission. We had been able to avoid the Jutes by my divinations, but the Briton troops were dwindling, and we needed all the help we could get.

"Let's move to the left, fifty paces," he whispered. "Rowena, stay here and keep watch." I pressed my lips together impatiently, but said nothing. At least I had been allowed to come.

I watched as the nine men crawled over to the covering of trees, watched breathlessly as they made their way down the hill. They were almost to the prisoners when the Jute guard called out in his tongue. There was swearing, and somebody cried out, "IMPEDIMENTIA!" The riders overtook the remaining guards and stunned them as well. Then all was still. The prisoners lifted their heads. I could not hear what Godric was telling them, but a tall man stood up, and clasped his hand in a brother fashion. I knew we had been received favorably.

Before we left for camp, I tended to some of the wounded. I had never been a very good nurse, so I was quite glad when some of the healthier prisoners asked to help. I had just finished applying a poultice to a sore on a child's leg when the tall man approached me. "My wife is ill." He had a very aristocratic voice I noted, and I wondered why he had been held captive. "Could you please tend to her?"

I followed him to the shade of the trees where the woman lay. When I saw her, it was then I realized – these were the two that had caught my eye on the road. She lay there, her splendid black hair spread out across her shoulders. Her belly was swollen even greater than last time I had seen her, and she still had a ways to go. I knelt down beside her. 

"Would you like some thing to drink, dear?" I asked in a soft voice.

She nodded. "Please." Her voice was low and clear, with a foreign ring to it.

I brought her the skein I had been passing around. She drank from it as if she had been lost in the desert for days. "Thank you," she murmured, finally handing it back to me.

"You're quite welcome."

"Where did you come from?" she asked, a confused look on her face. "You do not have the accent of the rest of these people. You seem familiar somehow."

I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. "I lived in Londinium for ten years," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Perhaps that is the accent you hear."

He dark eyes flashed with a faulty recognition. "Ah, yes. My husband and I journeyed there from his homeland in the east. Salazar thought our opportunities would be greater there, but we were expelled from the city. All who have a great talent for sorcery are now."

This caught my attention. "The Hengist is persecuting the magical community?" I asked, frowning.

She nodded.

"And what of Diagon Alley?" I asked. 

"It is still safe," she replied. "They have hidden the entrance away with more spells and devices than before. It is our haven."

"But this makes no sense," I pondered aloud. "The Hengist is one of us, although he has no great talent."

"But that is why we are persecuted," she said. "He needs our services. Seers, curse-casters, healers… we are all called into his service. He has enslaved us."

I sat back, my eyes closed tightly. So this is what it had come to. I had no doubts any longer. I had not been assisting the good fight. But now I must. I got to my feet. "Do you need help walking?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "I am weak, but a little food would replenish my strength."

"Oh, yes," I said absent-mindedly. "Food!" I dug about it my sack, and retrieved a small, rather flat loaf of bread I had been carrying, and some dried fruit. As I handed it to her, I glanced over to Godric. He was conferring with the four riders, and with the tall man called Salazar.

The dark-eyed lady thanked me again when she had finished. I took her hands and helped her to her feet. "What is your name?" she asked me.

"Oh! Quite sorry… I am Rowena."

"Pleased to meet you Rowena. My name is Ophelia." She extended the palm of her hand in a gesture of sisterhood. I took it.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

When I spoke with Godric that evening, he seemed quite satisfied with our little trek. Salazar, and his wife Ophelia were wizards from Slytherin, a small town north-east of Londinium. He had the gift of talking to serpents, which could prove useful. That was something neither of us could do – cull an animal out of a field, and ask them where the Jutes were headed for. The only place I could speak to the ravens was within the realm between the winds.

Godric and I held council quite often in those days, to discuss where we would hold to next. He would have loved to be able to attack the Hengist's troops, but he was prudent enough to avoid such an encounter, knowing that his troops would be massacred if he attempted such a feat with so few men. But he had been right, the Britons were loyal, ready to follow him to the ends of the earth if need be. His plan was to defend the mountain realms of the west, and to build up resistance in the north and south as well. He sent parties of men out, and they all came back with favorable news. Entire villages joined the Briton cause, threw out the Jute soldiers, and set up strong holds along the mountains. In the sixty nights I had been there, a chain had been set up, defending Cambria from the eastern attacks.

It was now well into the spring time, and we sat outside as we discussed what was to come. Occasionally he would lapse into talk about his homeland. He was intensely devoted to it, and would speak of it -  a rocky, desolate land of lakes, moors and mountains. But something was always lacking in his description of it. 

"But what of the people?" I asked. "Are they as barbaric as it is believed in the south?"

"Some are," he said, gazing up at the night sky. "But there are also villages, small towns, just like this land. The people are beautiful…" his voice trailed off as he got that distant look in his eye.

"You must have lost someone you loved dearly," I commented.

"Lost," he said, "but hopefully not forever."

"Your wife?" I questioned.

"No," he shook his head, "though I hoped that she would be."

I pulled my knees to my chin. "Tell me about her."

He sighed, a sigh like a summer breeze. "She was beautiful… light, full of life. Her eyes were as green as the new leaves on the tree, and her hair like sunshine."

"And what was her name?"

"Genevieve. My dear Gennie." He leaned back in order to survey the heavens more clearly. "Have you ever been in love, Rowena?"

I thought for a moment. Had I ever loved? I had loved my mother, as a child loves their mother, my long lost father I had wished for… I had hated Phineas, loved Owen like a brother… obeyed the Hengist… respected Vortigern…

"No," I replied.

His eyes did not waver from the stars. "No," he repeated. "You are too wise to ever fall in love."

I was glad when Salazar joined us, for I knew not how to answer him.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

That night I did not search for the future. The future found me instead. I had slipped off into a dream, when a knock came at my door. Arousing myself, I crept to the door, and opened it a crack. "Who is it?" I whispered into the darkness. No one answered, but I heard the flapping of wings. I searched for the source of the sound, following it deep into the forest. Finally it ceased, in a rustle of wings. I looked above, into the canopy of trees.

There my friend the raven sat, staring down at me with glittering eyes. "Why have you come for me?" I asked. "I did not seek you out."

The raven looked at me greedily. "For a prize, I will tell you."

Impatiently, I pulled one of my silver earrings out of my ear, and handed it to him. He swooped down, taking it in his claw, and hid it away. "The Hengist has discovered that a leader exists in the Briton forces. He has ordered his assassination."

I caught my breath. "Do they know his name?" I asked.

The raven shook it's head. "They only call him Lion-Heart."

I put my hands to my face. I had grown fond of Godric, fonder than I had realized. "When will it be?"

"I cannot tell you when, only how," he said. "Rowena of Ravenclaw, you will be his downfall."

I was too upset to correct him on my name. Instead I turned, and headed back out of the forest, tears streaming down my face.

When I awoke, I was still crying. The sun was shining in through the cracks of the thatched roof of the lean-to. I felt the dread release my body. I relaxed, falling back onto my mattress. It was only then that I realized I only wore one earring.

I searched frantically for the silver disc, but could not find it anywhere. In agony, I went to find him. I came upon the four light riders. I asked the one with the sun-bleached hair, Lazarus, where he had gone.

"He's out on a journey, madam," was the response. "Left this morning before daybreak."

I cursed to myself. "Can you catch up with him?"

"No madam." Lazarus looked concerned. "Is it urgent?"

"Yes, very."

"You'd better go tell Salazar. He's in charge while Lion-Heart is gone."

I mumbled my thanks, and headed off for the Slytherin tent. Ophelia was standing outside, and I bid her to get her husband. He came quickly, and listened as I explained myself. "So you see," I said breathlessly, "I must leave."

He regarded me shrewdly, stroking his beard. "Yes, perhaps that would be the best course of action. But you must be careful to avoid the Hengist's troops. If you are captured…"

"I will lead them on a false trail," I said quickly. "But I must leave at once. Send the horsemen out after him. I will go in the opposite direction."

He nodded, "Fare-thee-well, Rowena."

I turned. "The same to you."

I flew from the camp on horseback. I was a poor rider, but I needed to go as far away as possible. I needed to change the flow of time, yes, for my own devices. I rode on into the night with no rest. As we leapt a wall, the horse stumbled, and threw me. I lay in the dirt, a thin trickle of blood down my cheek. I turned on my side, and watched the events unfold before me, like a mirage.

I saw his horse, saw him arriving back at camp. As soon as he received the news of my departure, he galloped off again. I saw him splash through the brooks I had, jump across the walls I had. I saw him stop in the middle of a field, and extend his arm to someone out of my view.

"No," I cried, "keep going," but he did not hear me. 

I struggled to get up. I climbed onto my almost-lame horses back, weak from the loss of blood. The crimson liquid was pouring down my cheek. I retraced my path, galloped out to the plain where he had been. I stopped in horror. He was holding out his hand to help me onto his horse.

But it was not me. I was standing right there, my gushing blood proof that I was alive.

"Godric, no!" I cried.

His eyes flickered up, I caught the recognition in them. His mouth opened slightly as he looked back down to the false Rowena. He raised his staff. "IMPEDIMENTIA!"

The figure fell to the ground, and as it did, it's shape grew. From my hood fell the burly head of the Hengist.

"It's a trap," I screamed, "run!"

From either side of the valley came the two armies, vicious animals starved for the blood of their foes. It was terrible. 

When the Hengist regained his senses, he mounted a horse, and drew his staff. I knew what I had to do. I ran toward him, the words on my lips. He turned, surprised. We both yelled the curse at the same moment. "AVADA KEDAVRA."

But neither fell. We seemed to be locked, for a moment, outside of time. "Well, if it isn't the traitor," he sneered. "My own daughter, the betrayer. Your death would have come more gently if you'd bled to death on that rock in the road."

I flinched. "You are not my father. My father was Bram of Ravenwood, a noble and true man. You are neither."

At this he raised his staff again. He would have had me.

But at that moment, another voice bellowed, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The Hengist turned in his saddle, in time to see it coming. It hit his general, seated behind him.

"Well, Lion-Heart," he said, "let us battle this out like true men." He drew his sword, a heavy, serrated blade. 

As Godric drew his sword, I realized that I had never seen it before. In the same instant, I also realized that he had never once used the killing curse in any ambush we had made. He was truly honorable. My eyes fixed to his blade of shining silver, the handle embedded with rubies.

"This ends it all, Hengist," he said.

And there they dueled, in the center of the mass of bodies, all swords and spears and arrows. I winced as the Hengist almost caught Godric's arm. But he turned in time, planting a neat blow between the Hengist's ribs.

It took several more jabs for me to realize that something was not right. The Hengist should have been bleeding heavily by now, as any mortal would. But he didn't seem to feel the blade at all. He must have put a spell on himself. It was another trick, one that used Godric's honor as it's bait. I ran out to them, ducking arrows and axes. I raised my hands in the air, holding my wand high. "FINITE INCANTATUM!"

Godric understood. The Hengist turned to me, and roared, and Gryffindor had a clear shot at his back. He could have ended it right there. But something, some flicker of remorse, made him pause. In that instant, the Hengist picked up his heavy sword, and flung it at me.

Without a sound, Godric disappeared from his saddle, then reappeared between me and the sword. He held his own blade up against the flying one. The Hengist's sword cut his in two, and sank deep into his armor. Godric fell back on me. From the ground, I yelled once more, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" But the Hengist dissipated before my eyes. His black horse fell to the ground with a mighty thud. Without their leader, the Jutes quickly disappeared over the hill from whence they had come. Our men who were still able to stand helped the injured. When they came across Godric, his head in my lap, a great wail rang out across the valley.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

It was a three day journey to the sea, which gave me far too much time to ponder my actions. I tried to keep busy, but the inevitable questions came – if I hadn't run, would the same events have occurred? Where was the Hengist now? What was to become of the Britons now that they had lost their leader?

They laid him out, cleaned his wounds, dressed him in his best clothes, put his broken sword by his side. In this manner, they carried him to the sea. They placed him on a great raft, heaping it with the flowers that grew in the late summer months. As the sun was setting in the west, they carried the raft down the steep slope to the water's edge. I stood beside them sadly. Leaning over the float, I whispered "Reparo," and lightly tapped his broken sword. I couldn't bear to leave it in such a sad state, even though it was custom. I ignored the murmurs. I leaned over and kissed his brow. "Fare-thee-well, Godric," I murmured. "May you join Genevieve out on the sea…" I threw a flower onto the bier. 

With that, the men pushed the raft into the choppy waves. Lazarus and Gideon stood side by side, the two remaining horsemen. Damian and Alphonse had perished in the battle. Salazar stood on the cliff above, his arm around Ophelia. All up and down the slope stood the Britons, the last of their race on earth. One voice pierced the night air, a sweet arrow of song, and many others joined. My throat closed in tight, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. We watched float until it became a speck on the horizon, engulfed by the brilliance of the setting sun. Then darkness fell, and he was gone.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *


	6. Wilderness

*                                       *                                               *                                               *

After a few days, the stupor that had attached itself to the camp after the battle began to wear off. Preparations were made, meetings were held, a new leader was elected. Lazarus was to lead the Britons to safety. There was no longer any talk of heroics. Our spirits had been crushed. Sadly, the decision was made to retreat far within the mountains of Cambria. The strongholds in Britannia were to be given up. The villagers to the north and south would be welcome to come with us, but we could no longer promise to protect them.

It was at one of these meetings that our fate was decided. The Britons had voted. Because it was magic that brought their dear Lord's downfall, they seemed to forget that he had possessed the same powers. "It all started happening when that witch-woman came!" one toothless old man crowed. I could hear his voice from my cabin, where I had been banished while our fate was decided. I could also hear Lazarus's voice, rising above the mutters. "You seem to forget…" he started, but his voice lowered as the crowd quieted, and I could no longer hear what he spoke of. I could, however, hear the stones being thrown as the vote was cast… one dull chink after the other. I felt each one painfully in my heart.

Lazarus relayed the news to us with sadness, for he too was menially talented in the magical arts. "You must go," he said, "the council has decided." Salazar argued with him for a long time, but he only he shook his pale head in sadness. "The Britons have spoken. I must follow their lead if they are to trust me. You may stay with us on our journey into the mountains, but then you must leave our camp."

The next morning I packed my things. I draped my cloak over my shoulders, and walked toward the boundaries of the woods. Salazar came striding up to me.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. 

"I am taking my leave now, rather than later," I told him.

He looked at me, wild eyed and frantic. "But we wizards must stick together!" he proclaimed. "Do not let us be put asunder by these mere mortals… come with us, Rowena. For Ophelia's sake."

In those terms, I could not refused. Ophelia had grown quite dear to me, being the only other woman whose education could compare to mine at the camp. We had talked long hours in the early mornings. And her child was to come soon. I helped the Slytherins pack. We left that night, a torrent of teasing children behind us. Ophelia held a firm grasp on her husbands wand hand to keep him from cursing the little brats. All the same, she turned to me with a melancholy sigh.

            "So soon they forget all we do."

*                                       *                                               *                                               *

We trekked through the woods to the north. Here it was cooler, the leaves shading our path. We journeyed by day until Ophelia could go no further. Here, in the woods of northern Cambria, we decided to settle.

It was a nice area, a clearing in the forest, a two day journey from the great sea. A river ran by a morning's walk away, and the woods held many animals for good hunting. Salazar coaxed a snake out of the forest, and it became his pet, as his side day and night, letting him know the lay of the land, where the animals gathered to drink, which parts of the river-bed could not be trusted… here in this clearing we built a hut, and I gathered long grasses and pliable branches to weave a roof. There we stayed,  waiting for new life to come.

It was a hard delivery, and Salazar was frantic. I had no idea what to do as well, but I was able to keep calm. I kept bringing Ophelia water from the stream. Between gasps of breath, she directed me on what to do. The labor went on all night. Finally, just as the sun was rising, the child came. I cleaned her off, and wrapped her in a clean band of cloth before handing her to her mother.

Ophelia breathed evenly now. "My child," she cooed.

"Lilith," said her husband, "in honor of her grandmother."

"Lilith," she cooed, "Little Lili."

The child opened her dark eyes to the morning sun.

*                                       *                                               *                                               *

We stayed in our hut in the forest for a long period of time, so long, in fact, that we lost count of the days. Every day was merely a repetition of the last, the seasons coming and going in the great cycle. We rose, we ate, we worked, we slept. Our time was only told by little Lilith's growth. It was her third summer when I stopped sleeping.

I had heard of such things before, of people who stopped sleeping, and could never start again. They walked around like the living dead, needing no water or nourishment. Some said that they turned to vampires.

But in fact, I could no longer sleep. I could no longer bear staring into Godric's eyes every night – for that is what I saw. Occasionally he would talk to me, ask me things… our location, how we were doing. During the daylight, I was able to shove the image from mind with hard work, but when Luna arose and sailed across the heavens like a phantom ship, I could not bear it.

It was one of these nights when I saw the sign. I slipped on my cloak, making as little noise as possible so as not to disturb the Slytherins. I gently pushed aside the flap of our tent. The cool early autumn air hit my face. It felt wonderful.

For the longest while, I walked along the border of the forest, clutching my cloak around me in defense of the bitter air. The cold revived me, brought me to my senses as I wandered. Orion the hunter was edging his way across the sky, watching over the earth below.

I was just about to turn back when a peculiar thing happened.

I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, for mere second. As I turned, my mouth opened in joyous exclamation, the shape faded and dwindled. It was not a person standing there at all, simply a buck with beautiful antlers.

The stag regarded me for a moment, in an almost human fashion, before leaping back off into the woods. I wanted to cry after it, but I knew it would not return. Not this night, in any case. But as I returned to the tent, it was with a smile on my face. I raised my eyes to the moon.

"He will return," I said. "Rex Quondam, Rexque Futurus."

*                                       *                                               *                                               *

It was the next morning that he arrived. I had not spoken of my experience the night before to Ophelia. My mind told me I did not want to give her false hope. But my heart sang that he would return before sundown.

We were standing outside the tent, me preparing breakfast, Ophelia playing with Lilith. Salazar had gone off to hunt for more rabbits.

 Suddenly, Ophelia gasped. I looked up. 

Standing at the edge of the forest was Godric. Beside him was a fair-haired woman, holding the hand of a small boy.

I felt the jealousy rise within me.

Godric rushed down the slope and embraced us both. He pulled away from me, sensing something was wrong, and held me at arms length, frowning.

"What is it, Rowena?"

"I'm glad to see you, that's all," I managed to choke out. He smiled at me, still troubled.

"We thought you were dead!" cried Ophelia, Lilith clinging to her skirt.

"I would have been," he replied, "if it had not been for the help of Helga." He gestured to the lady carefully making her way down the slope. "She is quite skilled in the arts of healing. I convinced her to come to Caledonia with me to seek you out. I was hoping you'd come this way."

_Yes_, I thought to myself, _the road does get quite lonely at times_.

The lady was now even with Godric. He took her hand. I was delighted to see that she was not as beautiful as the described Genevieve. She was pleasant enough – short and solid, with light hair, and a broad, good natured face. The only thing out of the ordinary about her were her eyes, a warm brown, like the wood of the oak.

"Helga," he said, "these are my friends… Ophelia of Slytherin and Rowena of Ravenwood."

She smiled at us, nodding. 

"And this," continued Godric, hoisting the child to his shoulders amidst gleeful laughs, "is Brock, her son."

The child looked like his mother, his hair almost white, and his eyes blue. Helga picked him up and set him down, admonishing him with a look. "I apologize for his behavior," she said in a heavily accented voice. "His father died in a shipwreck when he was very young."

Ophelia extended her hand in way of an apology.

Helga smiled gently. I felt my icy surface crack. I smiled back, taking her hand as well. Though I did not know it at the time, our great circle was completed. 

*                                       *                                               *                                               *

That night, over a rabbit stew, Godric told us the tale of his journey. He had woken, far out to sea, on a sinking barge. Though he was weak, he was still competent enough to use his magic to fix the raft before falling off into exhaustion. The next thing he had seen was the inside of a small cabin. He assumed that he had landed back on the great isle. In truth, he had landed across the sea in Hibernia. Ships often traveled there, and brought back tales of a land green and beautiful. He was in a small sea-side town, in the house of a lady named Helga. The fishermen who had brought him there had heard of her powerful medicinal skills, not to mention her magic. Godric's wound was deep, and he had lost a good amount of blood, but time and constant care had brought him back to us. Once he was well, he knew he must return to Cambria. 

Helga wanted to come along, for she had heard of the cause of the Britons, and wanted to help. So she, Brock and Godric had sailed back across the sea together. He was dismayed to find only a strangling bunch in the mountains. He had met with their leader, who informed him that Gideon and Lazarus were dead. They had persuaded their men to come back for a counter-attack, and had lost their lives doing so. The Britons in the mountains now were settled. They had built farms, and started families where the Jutes could not find them, deep in the mountains. They had no use for fighting anymore. The mountains were now their home.

Godric relayed all this with a heavy heart, but he brightened as he told us that they had sent him on our trail. They had journeyed up the coast, until they reached an old campsite we had used for a few weeks. He knew that they were on the right trail, and it was only a matter of time before they found us. And so they did.

But know, he told us seriously, it was time for other talk. He was to return home, to Caledonia. Helga had already consented to join him. My heart leapt at this. I wanted so badly to go, yet I felt bound to the Slytherins. I waited for their response.

Salazar looked at his wife, placing his hand tenderly on her arm. "What will you say, my dear?" he asked.

Ophelia raised her dark eyes. "We will go," she responded.

And so, we set out on the journey that was to change our world forever.

*                                       *                                               *                                               *


	7. Hogwarts

It was the longest journey I was ever to take by foot, made in the days before the use of apparition over distances was discovered. But as one grows older, time passes faster, and in the company of friends, it flies by. We camped out under the starry heavens at night, building cheery campfires, and fearing no creature but the green dragons that inhabited the northern woodlands. In daylight, we walked along, stopping often for the children. We rose bright and early, and the sun-dappled path was moving us happily along in a slow ramble, twisting and bending to hug the curves of an unseen river not so far away. As we walked, Godric softly sang.

           "Somewhere across the rocky land,

Where heather overturns the sand;

Between the rivers and the lakes.

Across the misty mile takes,

An hour in this lonely land,

A grey spot on earths glitt'ring band.

A kestrel calls his mournful song,

Of those who travel here alone.

Amidst the heather she  awaits,

With golden hair and happy fates,

She sits and sings her holy song,

Of her lover, lost so long.

                        Across the miles she calls her man,

                        Who travels in a distant land,

                        Across the rivers and the lakes,

                        And there her heart unwilling breaks."

            I smiled sadly at these verses, for I knew he was thinking of his beloved Genevieve. I slipped up the rocky path toward him, and spoke softly.

            "I never thanked you for saving me."

            He glanced down at me in surprise. "But Rowena… you know you don't have to. You'd do the same for me, I know it."

            I was not so sure of myself.

Here the road turned steeply, leading us down a twisting, narrow path. The children were held close to their mothers. We cut deeper into the pines. "It's just ahead, around this bend now," called Godric, taking up the lead once more.

            We turned the corner, and stopped.

            There it stood, the grand castle of the kings of yesteryear, now a crumbling ruin, set high on a cliff. It was a majestic sight, a lake at its feet, surrounded by dense forest, mountains surrounding it in the distance, the blue sky crowning its head.

            "It's beautiful," I heard Ophelia breath.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

We arrived by way of the forest around the lake. The great ruins loomed ominously against the blue of the sky. We entered the courtyard, walked up to the great space where a door had once been. Inside it was musty, spider webs hung from the ceiling, and dust coated the floor. The children let out squeals of delight, and ran off to play. "Be careful!" cried Ophelia, running after them.

The rest of us examined the space more thoroughly. It was incalculably large, its ceiling fading into the darkness. A great stone staircase led up to the second story, broken in some places, and with weeds sprouting from the cracks. To the right was a doorway, taller than the others. I walked to it, my footsteps muffled by the heavy covering of dust. I peered into the room.

It was a great hall, to be sure. The high table still stood in place, and ragged tapestries hung from the walls. A goblet sat overturned on the floor. I picked it up, dusted it off, and set it on the table. I looked above. The ceiling was open to the heavens. It had caved in long ago; rubble was still piled along the walls in places. Green plants sprouted along the top, waving with the wind. The others came and joined me.

"It needs a lot of repairs," said Slytherin shortly.

Gryffindor clapped him on the back. "Well of course it does!" he exclaimed. "No one has lived at Hogwarts for the past 100 years."

"Hogwarts?" Helga murmured. "What a peculiar name."

"Just an old nickname," said Gryffindor. "No one's really quite sure where it came from."

"Hogwarts," I repeated. It was a name I had heard before, somewhere in my travels – through time or space, I did not know. A chill ran down my spine, and I shivered.

Salazar must have noticed, and interpreted my movement differently, for he said, "Yes, it is chilly in here with no roof to keep the warmth in. We must fix that soon."

"Ah," sighed Helga sadly, "but this is my favorite room! The rest of the castle seems so dreary and closed off – not enough windows."

Gryffindor smiled. "That's what my ancestors thought as well. The ceiling used to be bewitched to look like the sky above."

"What a marvelous idea!" Helga exclaimed.

"We'll put up a roof, and then bewitch it to look otherwise…" grumbled Slytherin, shaking his head. The three wandered back out into the hall.

"Coming Rowena?"

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

By evening we had found a cozy set of rooms (roof blessedly intact) where we decided to spent the night, There was even a little hearth, and Salazar set a cozy green fire crackling in it. We retired early, all being quite tired from our journey. In the morning I rose to find Godric and Salazar up and discussing their plans.

"But we just got here, you can't leave us now! You're the only one who knows this land."

"I have to go." Godric's voice was strong and determined. "I must seek her out."

I stopped in the doorway. Salazar noticed me first, he was facing me. "Good morning, Rowena."

Godric swung around. His back had been facing the door, and he had not seen me enter. "Rowena! Hullo."

I sat. "So, you're leaving us?" I asked calmly. 

He nodded, his face set in firm resolve that I had seen there often. "I promised Genevieve that I would return, the last time I saw her. I must keep the promise."

"Will you return?" I asked, glancing away from those eyes that burned into me.

He paused for only a moment. "Yes. I cannot abandon you here forever, Salazar is right on that. If I have not found her before the winter ends, I will return. You have my word." He stood.

"You're leaving this moment?" I asked, surprised. 

"Yes. I do not have much time."

Salazar stood and shook his hand. I remained in my seat. He took my hand, and nodded. "Rowena."

And with that, he was gone yet again.

For the rest of the year, we lived our lives as we had in the forest. The daily chores consumed me, and left little time for thought. And the castle provided us with another challenge – floors to be scrubbed, stones to be moved, tapestries cleaned. We soon discovered Helga's affinity for herbs and plants, and we set her about the grounds in search of a proper place for a garden. Salazar and I journeyed to the town, a half days walk away. There we traded in our belongings for a few chickens. I reluctantly handed over my earrings, discs of gold like the sun, remembering the chest full of fine things with which they had been presented. The farmer eyed me suspiciously, but I said nothing.

"A little expensive for your like, I'd say," he commented.

"Your wife will be pleased with them. It is rumored they were worn once by a queen."

The man chuckled. "I reckon it could be so. Still, it shan't get you a cow, but you can have the calf."

I nodded, taking the lead from his hand. "Good day, sir."

So we returned, with chickens for eggs, and a cow that would later provide milk. We toiled in the garden for the summer, sweat running down our dirty faces, hair flying loose from our scarves. Salazar would return with game from the forest that Ophelia would cure for the winter months ahead. By the time the last leaves of autumn fell from the trees, we were prepared for a harsh winter.

And harsh it was. We stayed in the castle for four and sixty days while the world outside became white with bitter frost. I passed the time salvaging manuscripts from the decrepit library, repairing their bindings, and copying down what could not be saved. Ophelia would mend clothes, and Helga watched the children, singing low, sweet songs under her breath in a foreign tongue. One night, as we were all sitting about the fire, Salazar stood suddenly and paced over to the window. In his chair, his snake curled in on itself, in a sort of half-hibernation. He looked over the frozen landscape, and sighed.

"We were fools," he muttered, "fools for following one. No man can stay alive out in this wasteland. Look! Nothing for miles in every direction but bleak forest and frozen lake. He will not return. We will sit in this castle and rot."

Ophelia made a noise of admonishment, and Helga covered her boys ears. "Do not say such things! We will survive. The winters in my land are much fiercer."

I strode over to the window to stand beside him, and look out over the lake to the dim mountains, shrouded in snow. "No," I said quietly. "He will come again. He returned from the dead once, he will do so again."

"But for how long," sighed Salazar, wearily. He went and sat by his wife's side. "Do you remember how it used to be?"

She closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face. "Don't make me remember something we cannot have again," she said softly, brushing Lilith's dark hair back from her face.

"But do you?" he asked, softer yet. I turned away, feeling I was intruding upon a private moment. For all of Salazar's faults, he was a good husband. He loved Ophelia in a way I believed I would never be able to comprehend. How lucky they were.

She opened her dark eyes, and looked up at him. "What of it?" she asked, her voice as transparent as smoke. "The bird calls over the marsh? The grasses by the edge of the pool where I would go and collect reeds, where you first heard my song? The sound of the insects in late summer, when the stars shone brighter than ever? No. Do not speak to me of such things." Her dark eyes lowered, like two candles suddenly extinguished. Helga shifted uncomfortably nearby, lifting Brock onto her lap.

There were many other nights filled with doubt, and some with exhaustion, yet most were peaceful. After we had all given up hope of ever seeing the ground again, the sun rose high in the sky, melting the snow. Water rushed down from the mountain peaks into the lakes, leaving muddy trails across the grounds. We began to venture outside once more, scared creatures coming out of a burrow after a storm. Ophelia stood next to me, looking out across the great brown mess that lay at our feet. "He has not returned," she said grimly, staring off to the horizon. _His_ identity was not spoken, we both knew who she meant. I gazed off to the mountains. "He will come," I replied. But I myself was beginning to doubt.

It was another two weeks before he arrived. Green blades of grass, and small yellow flowers were now daring to poke their heads out of the deep brown earth. He came from the mountains, a lone speck at first on the horizon. Helga cried out, pointing. We all stood by the door to await his arrival. Brock, now a sturdy lad with his two front teeth missing, rushed out to greet him. They returned to the door, the boy smiling, the man grim faced. The others all greeted him warmly, relieved to have him back. They spoke not of his mission. Once we were inside, I hung back. He hovered by the door, with the look of a man who knew he must keep his promise, though his heart lies elsewhere.

"You did not find her?" I asked. He shook his head. My hand jumped to his arm of it's own accord. 

"I am sorry Godric."

He nodded, and we turned to join the others.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

So, we began the rebuilding of Hogwarts. It was to be our home now, so we decided to restore it to a shade of its former glory. And here we planted the seed for the generations that would follow.

It was Helga who first gave me the idea. While the men used their magic to lift stones, and build towers, she decided to better the lives of those around us. She had been spending her days tutoring Brock and Lilith, elementary things, but things one needed to know – simple spells and incantations, how to read out of the books we had found in the library. I had seen them struggle with the Latin, and so one day I sat down to help. From there I taught them about the movements of the heavens, she taught them about plants, and their medicinal values. Lilith was especially bright, and asked me as many questions as she could think of. I always had an answer ready, enjoying her inquisitive spirit. And Brock, though he was slow to catch on, studied harder than I ever had, which I admired greatly. Toward the end of their childhood, they had as complete an education as one would receive in Londinium in the days before the invasion.

As the children grew older, they were joined by their friends from the village. Helga allowed them to sit in and study too. Their parents were amazed when the children came home able to read the great books the church had left, and official manuscripts. One little girl was even able to save her little brothers life with a potion she had concocted.

So, when Hogwarts was in the last stages of repair, I shared my idea. We were standing out by the lake, surveying the castle high above. Helga sighed. "Such a large castle, and so few of us."

I decided this was the time to speak. "We should offer the space to others."

Salazar stared at me. "Are you mad? Considering who we are? The people would try and burn us to the ground within days!"

Godric began to protest, but I silenced him with an upraised hand.

"Why not pass on our knowledge to the gifted children around us? Helga has done it before, if only the simple things. I have helped her, and Godric – you taught your horsemen. Ophelia, you are well versed in wizarding lore, and Salazar, you know many curses and their counters. Let us teach those who show promise, like the guilds of the great cities in the south. We can start a school, the greatest school for wizardry and witchcraft in all the world!"

It was Ophelia who spoke first, in her quiet, accented voice. "It is a marvelous idea."

Salazar looked at his wife, and slowly began to nod. "Yes," he murmured, "it is a good plan. People will come from far and wide to our school."

Godric smiled at me. "Brilliant Rowena. But where we find enough students to fill Hogwarts?"

"They will come," replied Helga. "They always come if there is a chance to better their lives."

I clapped my hands together, delighted. "Good!" I said. "We can start combing the village tomorrow."

I should have known that it would not be that easy. First, we all pitched in to finish repairs on the castle. Then we scrubbed the floors and swept the cobwebs from the rafters. Even when we used magic, it was quite a lot of work. Finally, the armor shone and the tapestries looked like new. Then came the hard part.

We searched the village, talking to many families, interviewing many children. It was clear to me which ones showed potential, and I came back with my list, sure it would be approved. But when compared the four pieces of parchment (the Slytherins had combined theirs), we had completely different names on each. We were all quite puzzled.

"But did you not go down the lake road?" I asked.

"I did," replied Godric, "but it seems you missed this one." He pointed to a name on his list.

"It looks as if we were the only ones to travel up the mountain," said Ophelia mystified.

It was Helga who laughed first. "We all have different ways of choosing," she said, pointing to my list. I recognize this name, but I did not choose the child, as he seemed lazy."

I glanced down. "Oh, no!" I replied. "He was exceedingly bright."

Salazar skimmed down Helga's list. "Yes," he murmured. "I remember her. But she seemed so dull… wouldn't even answer some of my questions."

"But this one," said Godric pointing to the Slytherins list, frowning, "was disrespectful to his mother. You can't teach a child who won't respect his own parents."

"He was wise not to respect her," replied Salazar. "She was as daft as a chicken."

This continued for quite some time, until Ophelia raised her wand in the air, setting off several firecrackers. "Enough!" she yelled. We all froze, staring at her with mouths open.

She resumed her pleasant tone. "There is more than enough room here," she said. "We will teach them all."

Godric nodded. "That is fair. But how will we divide them?"

"Houses," responded Slytherin. "In my days as an apprentice, we were divided into three houses, where we slept. We were to study under those men."

"Yes," I murmured. "I remember we had forms, where we were divided by skill or age."

"We shall combine the two," said Helga. "They will sleep in their houses, and study in their forms."

Ophelia nodded. "And what will we call these houses?"

"There will be four, one to represent each founding family," said Salazar, glancing toward the mountains, where the sun had just set, "but I believe we will wait until tomorrow to choose. Think of a name and symbol for your house. We will discuss them tomorrow after dinner."

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

After the plates were cleared the next night, talk turned to the school. Slytherin folded his hands. "We might as well begin. Has everyone thought of a suitable name?" We each nodded in turn. "Good. I suppose we will begin." He stood. His wife nodded for him to begin. He cleared his throat, and proceeded to speak.

"We have decided to call our house after the town we were taken from, Slytherin of the Fens. It is a noble Roman name, harking back to the days of our ancestors in that fair city. Our symbol is to be the snake, which graces our family insignia." He sat, and nodded to Helga, who stood, blushing.

"My house is to be called Hufflepuff after my late father, the Earl of Hufflepuff, across the eastern sea. The symbol will be a black badger on a golden field, like his banner." She sat down, looking as if she saw not the present, but some time past, in a land far away.

I stood, smoothing my skirt. "I choose the name Ravenwood, in remembrance of my home, and the raven for my symbol. It is the only creature clever enough to survive the heat of the desert and the bitterness of the northern wastelands." I resumed my seat. All eyes turned to Godric.

He got up slowly. "After much deliberation, I have decided that my house shall be called Gryffindor, the name of my ancestors, the kings of yesteryear. My symbol is to be the lion, a noble beast." With that, he sat. 

I leaned over. "You didn't give it a moment of thought until you stood, did you?" I whispered.

He grinned. I tried to give him a look of disapproval, but couldn't keep my face straight. A laugh escaped.

He caught me in the hall afterwards. "I still think Ravenwood lacks a bit of your essential character, Rowena," he murmured. "You do far more than just survive with your cleverness. You use it to fight as well, for the good in things. Why not pick a more noble bird… the eagle, perhaps? I know they roost in the woods of Cambria as well."

I pressed my lips together tightly. "The raven is a noble bird, and so it will stand."

In response he gave me that curious sideways smile, and nodded. I frowned.

So, Hogwarts was begun. Our first class consisted of one and two score students, from towns miles in every direction. Some even came from the town to the north, the largest in Caledonia, after hearing of our search. They arrived from all directions, most on foot, but a few riding behind parents and one arrived in a carriage.

I was quite nervous, as I kept smoothing down my dark skirt. I noticed Ophelia pressing her lips together tightly in a fashion that was quite unusual to her usually calm and gracious demeanor and Helga stood in a corner, smoothing back her hair. Even Salazar paced about the Great Hall. Only Godric remained unruffled. We had already interviewed all of the students, so we knew our picks by face and name, but we would be teaching all children. I was to teach Latin and Astronomy. Godric would teach Counter Curses and the basics for magical combat and the handling of creatures, Salazar was handling Curses, and Helga Herbology. The latter two were sharing the task of teaching Potions as well. Ophelia was to teach Magical Songs and Lore. We were all sharing the task of Spell learning.

Classes were to be held at sunrise. Before, there would be a meager breakfast in the Great Hall, prepared by a lady we had found in the village who offered to cook for us in exchange for food and shelter. She was also to care for the animals and do the laundry, as we now had our hands full of teaching.

There would be a break between classes for the day's feast, then we would continue on to sunset. An evening meal would be served, and then it would be time for bed. To me, it was a call back to the days at the school in Londinium. However, I hoped that my students would have a far more pleasant experience. 

My mind was set at ease as the first ones gathered in the courtyard. Their faces revealed them to be as frightened as I felt. I had forgotten what it was like to leave home, and to go to a place where no face was familiar. My heart went out to them, but I remained at the top of the stairs, unsmiling. It was not my task to comfort them. They were here to learn. They would soon forget the places from which they had come, and would settle in at the castle. 

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

 "Madam Rowena?" came a timid voice, and a slight tug on my sleeve.

I glanced down over my glasses, my arms full of parchment. One of my students stood there, a first year girl with red fuzzy hair and many freckles. 

"Yes Morwyth?" 

She went on to ask me a very confused and confusing question about last week's astronomy homework. I listened patiently. Patience was one virtue that I had gained these past seven years. It was hard to believe indeed, that I had been teaching and living at Hogwarts for so long.

"… and then I wasn't sure about the three stars aligned… and is the north star the first or the third to the left, I never can remember…"

I finished explaining how to detect Polaris, and the child thanked me profusely (turning red to her ears), and went on her way. I passed a group of fifth years, coming in from the outdoors all muddy. Godric had managed to procure a Hippogriff for his class, and they seemed to be having a hard time with it.

All in all, things were going well. Over the years our numbers had grown steadily, from the one and two score to five and three score, and so on… this year we had eight and five score students in attendance. Some had even come from across the western sea to join us, so had the renowned of Hogwarts spread. Our staff had grown from five to nine. We were far better organized, enough to laugh at our first years. Our schedule had been adjusted to allow time for leisure and study. We wore robes of black to unify our dress, and to set us apart when we journeyed to town. The houses had settled in to their own right, each developing their separate identities. Godric's students usually exhibited uncommon courage, and loyalty to their fellow students. They were the natural leaders, though the Slytherin students also had their share. The Slytherins tended to have a keen sense of timing, and a knowledge of how to influence others that I admired. Many were hard workers, with great ambition. However, Salazar also had his share of rather wicked, and even doltish students. Somehow I suspected that these were the ones that he had picked, while the wise ones came through Ophelia's judgment. Helga's brood were the gentlest, kind and caring, like her, and hard workers. They were also loyal, and often became friends with the Gryffindors. 

But of course, my students were the most brilliant, the brightest and wittiest. They were the top students, some without ever trying. I encouraged them to be diligent with their studies, so that they would receive the full benefits of a Hogwarts education, and most honored this, putting to shame the other students. I was quite fond of them all. A few reminded me of myself, back in my early days. And yet, they often disappointed me. Perhaps I expected too much of them, after all, they were only children. But many had a gaping hole in their personalities, which only too painfully reminded me of the one in mine. I noted this trait in a few of Slytherins students as well, and it was many years before I was able to put a finger on it. At long last, I realized what it was – an inability to express love. Perhaps this was what made me secretly delight every time I was given a class of Gryffindors to teach.

Many times, after dinners, we would sit and plan the future of the school. We had begun to feel safe that this venture was a permanent one, indeed, one that may well have lasted the rest of our lives. And so, we began to make preparations for the future.

The idea came to us when Ophelia was expecting another child, and could not be present for that years search in the village, and through the countryside. We had talked, lightly as possible, about what would happen to our school, to the four houses, when we were gone. 

It was Godric who thought of it. He despised the hats that we had made a part of our uniform, so he was quite happy to give his up. After a series of spells, he placed the hat on each of our heads. I watched as it slipped over Helga's eyes. She wore the hat for quite some time, and my curiosity grew. "Well?" I asked, when she finally removed it.

She blushed slightly, shaking her head. "I am not to say. You must try it for yourself, with no biases."

I looked at her for a moment, pondering what she had just said, and slipped it on. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness. Then, I was surprised to hear it whisper in my ear. 

_"Hello there…"_ I let out a small gasp.

_"It's all right, Rowena. I'm just searching your mind."_

I felt quite uneasy as the hat pondered over my ideas.

"Hmm… yes, intelligence is always good. And applying ones self to the task at hand. Not to keen on emotions, are we?" I flinched. "Sorry," said the voice, "I am supposed to be impartial, you know, for this to work…"

It went on whispering in my ear for quite some time, speaking to my mind without my lips moving once. I was quite shaken when it came time to take it off. I lifted it off my head, and looked at Godric, who was now standing directly in front of me, arms folded.

"Well?" he asked.

"Brilliant idea," I sniffed, "but I'm not sure I like the object that's going to exercise it." I handed the hat to Slytherin, who examined it carefully before trying it on. We left him in peace as the hat picked his brain.

"So how will this work?" Helga asked.

"The hat will explain the sorting process, along with the identities of the four houses. Of course, the characteristics of each will be what you put into it. No more, no less. But all children who come to this school will be given a place to go, I have seen to that. Great things can happen, if you only expect them to."

"Lofty ideals," I commented, with a righteous smile.

He chuckled. "D'you realize that a thousand years from now, all they'll know of us will be tales sung by a crusty old hat?"

"Far longer than that, I believe." I whispered. "Far longer than that…" Even then I had foreseen many things that would come to pass. I already knew that the school would last far beyond the tales of our days and deeds.

And still, at times I was not certain we would survive the day, much last the year. Many events precipitated the end of our golden age. There was the monk who came from across the sea, preaching in the village, and speaking of heresy and devilry afoot in the countryside, thumping his leather volume in the town square. There was the cook, who we finally had to let go, in part for her own laziness, who spread the rumors of the 'unnaturalness' of our students. Gangs of unschooled boys roamed the streets of the village, looking for fights with our boys, and harassing our girls. A sense of unrest had fallen over the valley.

I was tossing and turning in my sleep, caught in a fitful dream that I had not had in years. Ravenwood was burning once more, before my eyes. I heard horrible screams, saw people running about, some being consumed in flames, some being shot down where they stood by beams of green light. Three horses rode past, their hooves thundering on the dusty path. They were black as night, and their riders wore heavy cloaks, their faces concealed in shadows. Then came the image I had not thought of in years. The Hengist entered on a tall horse with no skin – it's pale bones shone in the moonlight, and its eyes glowed with an unearthly fire. The Hengist pointed his wand directly at my heart…

I awoke in time to hear the clap of thunder. Shuddering I rose from my bed, and paced across the cold floor to close the shutters on the impending storm. I gazed up at the night sky, and noted how very clear it was. Each star sparkled in its circuit across the heavens. I stopped to admire the view. Hearing the thunder once more, I closed the window tightly, and returned to my bed. 

It was Helga who woke me, not ten minutes later. She was holding a candle in her hand, and her straw colored hair flew out from her shawl. "Quickly, come now," she told me in a breathless voice. "We must protect the children."

I looked at her, confused. 

"We are under attack," she moaned. "You must come, now!"

I followed her in a daze, not clearly comprehending what she had said. We dashed down the great staircases, until we reached the bottom floor. I coughed, smelling the acrid scent of something burning. For one mad moment, I thought the castle was on fire. I regained my senses, shaking the sleep from my mind. Stone cannot burn.

However, wood can, and the entryway was a mess of screaming children, and thick dark smoke. A ring of fire burned through the great oak doors. They shook again, a sound like thunder, and finally, I understood. They were storming the castle.

"Down to the dungeons, now!" I commanded the children. I grabbed an elder boy's arm. "Fingal, you lead the way." Through the confusion, he was able to round up the younger ones, and lead them to safety. I watched as they went down the stairs, a closely huddled line. In the darkness, and the smoke, I bumped into a solid figure.

"Rowena?"

"Godric," I gasped, grasping his arm. "Lumos!" I stared at him, his eyes dark and burning in his pale face. "What is happening here?" I asked, feeling myself break.

"The villagers are attacking. Get your wand ready, Rowena." He raised his voice. "Do not aim to kill. No one must be hurt, we must show them we are peaceful."

Just then, the great doors came crashing down, and in swept the angry mob. 

They were armed with torches, farm tools, a few had bows or spears. As they ran toward us, weapons raised, we lifted our wands, and cried, "IMPEDIMENTIA!" as one voice. The first wave froze, the second halted. But soon they advanced once more, reaching us, separating us. Curses were beginning to be hurled left and right. Purple sparks signaled to me that Godric's wishes for peace were not all being followed. But still, for a half of an hour, we were able to keep up our defense without a single casualty on either side.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" I cried, relieving a farmer of his scythe. It clattered to the floor behind me, safely striking nothing but stone. I was about to run to the aid of one of our younger teachers, when the unthinkable occurred. I turned in time to see it happen. 

It was a boy who was the same age as Lilith, freckled, carrying a pitchfork. He did not seem to be attempting any attack, but merely stood there, waving his tool, and yelling encouragement. The sight saddened me, that one this young was already turned. If only he could see what evil hate does to men, like I had seen on the battlefield, many years ago.

A movement caught my eye. Salazar had been throwing curses right and left, his rage growing with every new defense. I do not know if he knew what he was doing. Perhaps his aim was off. Perhaps he only wanted to make an example. Or perhaps he truly wanted to kill the child, whose words echoed the words of the Britons, so many years before.

Ophelia noticed too. I saw her turn, saw her look from her husband to the boy. The color left her face. She glanced at Lilith, safe behind Helga. "NO!" she cried as her husband raised his wand.

But it was too late. It came rushing down with the wind of death. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted, calling upon one of the oldest curses, and the most evil. The green light left his wand like a flash. Ophelia made a sudden movement, jerking herself into harms way. The curse hit her, full on. For a moment, her dark eyes lit up, taking in the room for one last time. Then they dulled, the light behind extinguished like a candle put in a basin. She was dead before she hit the ground.

"No!" wailed Salazar, running to his wife's side. "Ophelia, no… what have I done?" He ran his hands through his hair. "Ophelia…" He sank, his head collapsing onto her breast. But she did not move.

The people around the boy backed away, and a great cry arose, one of fear. The villagers backed off, like a cowardly dog with its tail between its legs. Salazar paid them no notice. "Leave us!" cried Godric. "Leave us! No one was meant to be harmed!" The fear in their eyes grew incalculably, and the majority fled, as quickly as they had come. I noted our old cook was amongst them.

A few stragglers remained, fighting until they had been stunned, or otherwise cursed away. The men dragged the unconscious bodies outside. Still, Salazar remained motionless on the floor, his head bent over his wife's lifeless body.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

Salazar remained locked away in mourning for many days. Eventually, he would let us in to see him, but he would not leave Ophelia's side. Her corpse did not decay, but only grew cold, like icy marble. She lay on the bed, her free hand across her breast. Her beautiful black hair lay splayed out like a halo, adorned with sweet white flowers from the wood. It was a full month before any of us spoke to him. I decided as the three of us entered the chamber a month from the morning of her death, that I must be the one to break the silence.

I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Salazar, she is gone… leave her in peace."

"You are supposed to see these things," he cried at me, knocking my hand away. "Why didn't you warn her?" It was then I noticed the snake – Salazar's pet had wrapped itself protectively around Ophelia's body. The light shone off its dull scales as its coils undulated, contracting around her as if to protect her from the intruders. It raised its head and hissed at me.

I remained cool. "I learned long ago not to change the course of time for my own purposes. There is a design, grander than you or I. We must not change the course of history, or something will always be amiss is the world."

He spit at my feet. "Seer! Murderer!" 

Godric leapt at him. "Rowena loved her too," he said, his voice soft with quiet anger. "We all did. She might be able to see the future, but she cannot control everything. How dare you? How dare you call her that?" 

Salazar's grey eyes flashed. "As you wish. As you wish," he hissed. "Then I will call you the murderer, for that it the truth. You killed her as well as I did, with this _school_." Godric released his hold. Salazar stood up.

 Godric's fist clenched angrily around his staff. I know that he did not mean to use it, but Salazar misinterpreted the action. From his cloak he drew a blade. It shone silver, its edge winking in the dull firelight. He drew back, preparing to strike at Godric.

Time flashed before my eyes, faster than ever before, from my first memories of the riders, up to the conversation we had had before reaching Hogwarts. Godric's voice echoed in my ears. _"But Rowena… you know you don't have to. You'd do the same for me, I know it." _Without a moment of hesitation I flung myself between the two, holding out my bare arms to push them apart. I flinched, waiting for the icy steel to rip my skin.

But the blade never came. It was uncanny – Salazar saw it as well as I did – the strange sense that we were repeating the moment of Ophelia's death like some gruesome play. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter, spinning wildly and coming to rest at Helga's feet. I caught the breath rising in my chest. "Peace!" I cried, in a firmer voice than I would have thought possible.

 Salazar turned, teeth bared, and wiped the sweat from his face. "This day marks the end. On my wife's grave, I swear I shall prevent those with impure bloodlines from attending Hogwarts. A plague will be upon them. So I take my leave. A fool, a murderer and a whore will teach them." And with those words, he turned in a great fury of flowing robes, and was gone.

Helga sobbed in her corner, cradling Lilith, who had been brought up from the dungeon to sit by her father's side as he mourned. Godric made a sudden motion, wrapping his arm around me, holding me up, for my knees were weak. "Are you alright?" he murmured, brushing a lock of stray hair from my eyes. I nodded, looking straight at him. He turned, letting me go, and helped Helga to her feet, looking pale and shaken.

"Where has father gone?" asked Lilith, her silver eyes wide.

For the first time, I was unable to answer her question.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

It was weeks before Salazar returned for his daughter. When he did, he simply came in, took her by the hand and turned to leave. Helga following him out, demanding to know where the child was going; if she would have proper food and care, love and attention. She even offered to care for her herself.

"I am taking her away from this place," he simply said, and with that, they were gone.

I was never to see them again.

*                                       *                                               *                                               *

It was a mournful winter. Many of the children were taken home by their parents, and we passed the quiet hours together, each in our own solitude. I was unable to sleep, beset once more by horrible dreams. I saw myself far away from the castle, in a burning wood. The sky changed rapidly, the sun rose and set many times. The burning stopped, replaced by the rain, and the snow. All the while, a raven circled. _'Come my friend!'_ his beating wings seemed to cry. I did not want to follow, however. I was ill of the shadowy dream world, of the tricks and deceits it played upon my mind. So, I roamed the corridors aimlessly, holding a candle in my hand, watching and waiting for something to occur. 

On one of the nights, as I crossed a corridor, I was met with a surprise… flickering firelight filtered out from a doorway to the right. I followed it, stopped, silhouetted in the frame.

He heard my soft footsteps and glanced up. "Good evening Rowena."

"It is far past evening, Godric," I replied, arching my brows. "What are you reading?"

He glanced down at the text in his hand, rubbing his eyes. "I don't rightly know," he finally replied with a weary smile. For a moment, he looked diminished somehow, paler, older. It worried me. I drew closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you quite certain you're all right?"

He sighed. "I am well," he replied, "tired, and weary, but well."

I nodded, sitting next to him on the hearth as he gestured for me to. "I know," I replied. "It is Ophelia's death, and Salazar's departure. It has taxed us all greatly."

He looked at me, his face half concealed in darkness. "You say these things, but do you ever feel them, Rowena?"

For the first time in years, I felt tears stinging my eyes. "I am tired," I said, my voice sounding odd to my own ears. "I must go."

He took my hand as I stood, grasped it firmly. "Rowena," he whispered. I felt a tear slide down my nose, and turned my face to hide it from him.

"I must go, Godric," I repeated.

"Stay here with me, but for a while," he said. 

I sat once more, but faced away from him. His hand still grasped mine. The tears flowed steadily now. A sob caught in my chest, choked its way up through my throat. I began to shake. Godric felt this, and put a reassuring arm around my shoulder. This only made my chest heave harder fighting to keep in the emotion I had held for so long.

Then, the dam broke. I buried my face against his chest, sobbing. He clutched me tightly to him, brushing back my hair, and whispering words of reassurance. Finally, I quieted, and lay there numb, having cried away all my tears. He held me, rocking me gently back and forth. An occasional sob escaped, but my eyes were dry.

So softly it was almost inaudible he sang, in his husky voice…

"From the woods of the rook, where the ravens cry,

 and the lonely mists where the eagles fly,

 from the amber peaks and deep blue sky,

 and the spangled orb of the heavens high;

 where the winds come whispering, like a sigh,

 of the maiden with the starry eye,

 and a brow on which all pain must die,

 where I'll sheath my sword, and upon it lie."

I rested my body against his, listening to the steady beat of his heart. When was the last time I had been so physically close to a human? It was impossible to remember. I supposed my mother had held me, comforted me, but I could not recall now, so far away it seemed. Now, it seemed so strange, yet so right to be held by Godric. My fears subsided and I was silent, listening to the soothing sound of his voice. I do not know how long we sat there, but my eyes had closed, and in that place between sleep and awake, where dreams flourish, I felt his lips press softly against my forehead, felt him lift me up in his arms and carry me up to my room like a small child. I curled up in my dream, and slept gently that night.

            I awoke in my room the next day, uncertain if it had all been some strange dream. At breakfast in the Great Hall, Godric's face gave nothing away. I decided that the events of the night before had never occurred, and went on with the day. Soon, the idea of me crying into his shoulder, let alone having him sing a song to comfort me, became ridiculous. Still, I would sometimes catch him gazing at me in a way that he never had before. Things became strange between us – when we met in the corridor, there was an odd, formal silence that had not been present in times past.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

The winter months passed, and with the thaw of spring, old wounds began to heal and memories soften. It was a fine spring day, and Helga and I were outside by the lake, scrubbing away at our robes. From over the grassy hills, to the side of the castle, there came a faint whisper, like a warm spring wind. But it was a voice – a celestial voice that spoke of all the world, and yet, of nothing but love and beauty. We stopped our work to listen. It floated closer and closer, like the song of the loveliest bird rejoicing the end of a hard winter, until it seemed ready to burst over the edge of the hollow, and spill out into the lake and forest in a joyous flood, like sweet ambrosia.

I knew it was her even before I turned around.

She was more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined, though I grant you, I had tried. She stood at the crest of the hill, clothed all in white, staff in hand. Her hair was the color of deep gold, or light copper, and flowed out behind her, a halo in the wind. Encircling her head was a wreath of wild flowers. She was small and slim, and her face was enchanting – the way her small mouth curved as she sang, the way her eyes sparkled, the same color as sea reflecting sky, her face like the palest rose, bitten with color in her lips and cheeks. As she raised her arms to the heavens, I fell sure that the sun would fade in awe.

Then came the part that would bring me to tears, over and over in the solitude of my room. I felt my heart break as he came, rushing out of the castle. His face was pale, yet flushed all at once, and his eyes shone with a certain emotion I have never been able to define. "Gennie?" he asked in a whisper that could be heard for miles. She ran to his arms, and he swung her around. Their lips met as they embraced. It was a kiss for all time, a kiss for the ages to remember, a kiss to make all lovers in times past or future to pale in comparison. For a brief second, the earth stood still, and spring was eternal. Genevieve had returned.


	8. Vortigern

It was on a lovely day, Midsummer's Day to be exact, that they were wed. The air was warm, but not stifling, the sky was blue and cloudless. The castle grounds had risen to the occasion, helped, I believe by Helga's hard work and tender care, and had blossomed overnight. Where rolling hills met the shade of the forest, there we gathered. The lake glittered a deep blue, reflecting the heavens above. Even the birds seemed to sing with joy.

The bride was the picture of loveliness, wearing the white robes she had traveled in, far across the hills and heather. The wreath of flowers perched upon her head like a halo as her husband took her hands in his own and bent down to kiss her. There was great applause at this display of affection, and Godric smiled at the crowd gathered; students, faculty, and curious villagers who had come around once more, this time for reconciliation. 

I stood at the edge of the festivities, quiet, watchful. I had spent my time trying to find faults in the lovely Genevieve, but truth be told, she had none. She had been as sweet and charming as possible throughout her introduction that day at the castle. She helped with the work as well as she could, and was a wonderful conversationalist… smart, and yet with a sense of wit that I could never possess. And her beauty was undeniably beyond compare. She lacked only one thing – magic. She was not a sorceress, and yet, she seemed to have an enchanting brand of magic all her own, one that made the stars pale in comparison to her shining eyes. Even when her face was at rest and her lips unsmiling, she had a calm beauty, like a statue of marble, yet very much alive. I could now see why Godric could love only her, why he had searched for her through the bitter winter.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

It was in the disruption after the feast, and the end of the school term that the impossible happened. 

"Rowena!" cried a voice. It was one I had not heard in years. I turned in disbelief to face it's owner.

Vortigern had come for me. 

The look on his face told the entire story. As he reached me, he knelt and kissed my hand. The years had not been as kind to him as they had to me. It had been fifteen years since I had last seen him, and in the meanwhile, he had become an old man, his once light hair turning white at the temples. It was long and unkempt. Behind him, I noted a small line of weary looking knights. 

"Rowena," he breathed, repeating my name once more. "I have found you, at last."

"You haven't been searching all this time, have you?" I said shortly, laughing at him inside. He was so serious.

"I have," he replied, taking me aback. I lost the trail after the battle of my subjects and the Hengist." I winced at his possessive usage. "I thought I had lost you. I began a wanderer, the Walker, they called me. I scoured the countryside, hoping to hear of some tale of magic, of a beautiful sorceress. And at long last, I heard of this place…" he gestured, rather distractedly, "this castle. I journeyed here as fast as humanly possible, though that may not be much to you." He tried to smile, rather embarrassed. Getting to his feet, rather slowly, he asked me what I knew he would.

"Rowena, will you have me? I am sorry. I was a fool."

I paused, waiting for the outcry, expecting him to expect me for his 15 years of penance. But as the silence prolonged, the words did not come. He waited, patiently, looking sadder and older by the minute. 

Just then, a musical laugh sounded from the tower, spreading across the grounds like music. In a moment, my mind was made up. I accepted Vortigern's hand. His face broke into hundreds of wrinkles as he smiled. 

After going upstairs to gather my things, I took my quill and scribbled a hasty note, explaining my disappearance. As I flew down the great stairs, I passed Helga coming the other way. She opened her mouth to ask where I was going, but before she could speak, I was out the door, and on my way.

I entered the carriage waiting in front of the gates, and took my husbands hand. We drove away without a single glance back.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

Eventually he recounted his story to me, though not until the fifth year I had returned to him. It pained him to think of it. After I had fled from the Great Circle, my husband had received word that the Hengist was coming to visit his "dear" son-in-law. At that meeting, the Hengist had slain all of Vortigern's men, and imprisoned him for a time. Unbeknownst to me, my husband had been planning a rebellion from the east. If the plan had come into action, then perhaps the Jutes would have been destroyed. But he had been betrayed, and his rebellion was crushed, and he was punished. He told me of his escape into the mountains, and how the Briton rebels Aurelius Ambrose and Uther Pendragon had followed him all across Cambria, vowing to avenge the giving of Britannia. He felt despised by all – Britons and Jutes alike.

He had wandered through Cambria, trying to settle in different places, building fortresses along the way. At that time he still had a rather large following, but as he moved from one place to another, further north all the time, the numbers dwindled. His knights who had rushed to free him from prison decided to stay, one by one, to guard the embattlements and towers along the mountainside. Local people gravitated to these fortresses, setting up homes within the walls, and starting families, intermarrying with Vortigern's men. This is what had become of Godric's brave band – they had settled with their one time foes, and were now living peaceably in the mountains to the west.

But Vortigern had persisted on, ever searching. Finally, it seemed hopeless. He had followed my trail as far as he could, had learned my story from the Briton villagers, up to the point where we had been banished from the camp. Then, all trace was lost. For all he could surmise, I was dead, having fallen in the wilderness. So, by the lake of Llyn Dinas, he gathered together the last of his men, and set the foundation for his final tower, the one he was to spend the rest of his days in.

It was not to be. He had some problems in the building of the castle, given the spot he had chosen. It was a breeding ground for a particularly nasty group of dragons, who enjoyed knocking over the castle foundation almost every night. Exasperated, Vortigern searched out for help, and found it in the form of a young wizard from the south, Emrys Myrddin. Not only did Emrys help him banish the dragons, he also happened to be a former student of Hogwarts, a Gryffindor, who told him of my whereabouts. So, Vortigern moved on, leaving his castle to find me at long last.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

He had been married before I was born, you should know, to the grand daughter of a Roman Caesar. She had died giving birth to their sixth son. Now in his old age, he began to think wistfully of his children, who were now either dead or had forsaken him. So when I announced that I was with child, he became overjoyed. Sadly, he never saw our daughter. He died in his sleep on a stormy spring night. 

I was up and about, unable to sleep. The dreams had come again to haunt me, though now I not only dreamed of the future, but of the past as well. I decided to take a walk through the orchard, though my nurse was strictly against it. "You'll catch your death of cold," she moaned, "and take the child with you." I walked through the crooked rows of trees, rejoicing in the feeling of the rain on my face, in my hair, down my neck, and falling onto my shoulders. In the distance, thunder rumbled. I watched as the heavens split open, and fiery bolts of lightening shot across the sky, illuminating the land of Cambria all the way to the rugged peaks in the distance. I shivered with delight. 

As I turned to head back, the lightening shot down through the sky once more. I raised my hand to my mouth as it struck the great rowan grove by the fort. I stood on the clear hill and watched in awe as the fire leapt from one tree top to the next. Soon the forest was burning.

My nurse found me standing there, gaping at the scene. She did not think me right in the head, and thought it best for me to follow her into the kitchen. There she fixed me some of her hot brew. It was sitting there, sipping at the chalice, and dripping wet, that the page came in with the unexpected news. I dropped the clay cup, and it shattered on the floor. Nurse hastily got me a new one, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I sat back, dazed. What was I to do now?

The fire burned on all night, and Vortigern slept in eternity. I counted the days, and waited for my child to be born.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

My daughter was born on Midsummer's eve, _Ano Domoni_ 476 in the way of the Romans. It was uncommonly hot that year, all the crops had withered and the fields had burnt. I noticed nurse hanging amulets about, and I asked her what they were for.

"Keep the evil spirits away," she said in an ominous tone. "There's something not right in the country these days."

I merely smiled at her predictions, and went on my usual walk of solitude. I passed through the burnt forest, which had never fully lost the smell of the fire. It was quiet enough here to hear the movements of the earth. I stood still and listened.

Then it came. For a single second, I thought in my stupidity that an earthquake had begun. Then I realized the quake was inside of me. I fell to the ground, gasping for lost breath, clutching at my belly. The nurse had been walking, not far off, for she refused to let me walk alone in those days. She cried out to the gardener, who was inspecting the rose hedge 300 paces away. He ran for help.

I lay on the ground, staring at the high blue sky, where there was no sign of clouds. Red shots of pain flashed before my eyes like lightening, and I struggled to keep calm. I felt the animal within me creeping up, threatening to pour out of my mouth. The pain came again, sharper, and steady, like a pulse. For the first time in my life, I allowed the creature within to speak. I screamed. The ravens circled above.

It was there, on the charred ground of the forest, that my daughter was born. The nurse lifted her up, gave her a thwack on the back. She let out a healthy scream. "It's a girl, love," nurse proudly announced. I stared at her, this foreign being that I had created. She was uncommonly pale for a newborn. I remember Ophelia's childbirth, and how red and homely Lilith had been. My child was beautiful.

The nurse handed her to me gently, after wrapping her tightly in swaddling cloth. I pulled it loose to examine her. She had fine, long lashes, ten slender fingers, and ten slender toes. She stopped wailing for a moment, and looked toward me, her eyes not yet focusing. The little hair she had on top of her head was dark, like mine, but her eyes were the color of the sea on a stormy night, like her fathers had been. Overhead, a raven cawed, announcing her birth to the heavens.

"She will be called Brenna," I announced, "in honor of her grandfather, Bram of Ravenwood."

"A lovely choice for that baby. She will have hair as dark as a ravens wing when she gets older, like yours Ma'am."

They carefully carried me inside, and laid me out on my bed, my daughter by my side. I fell asleep gazing at her.

That night, for the first time in six and three score days, it rained.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *


	9. Return

When I was finally able to get up again after my confinement, to walk around freely, I found myself quite depressed. I loved my daughter very much, and devoted most of my time to her care, but still, I was lonely. The castle had always seemed cavernous, even for it's small size, when I lived there alone with my husband, but now it seemed too large, too cold. The ceilings disappeared into darkness, the bare stone of the floor froze my feet, even early in the fall. The view from the windows was no comfort either. They all overlooked the same barren landscape, one that used to be full of beauty to me – burnt trees and low mountains on all sides. The only creatures I ever saw were the ravens, ever-present, circling overhead. Their cries were the only sound to break the silence. 

For the first time in seven long years, my thoughts drew back to the school. I wondered how Godric and Helga were getting along. I missed the chatter of students in the corridor, missed getting up in the mornings and going into my classroom to prepare for the day. I made up my mind at this point, but I waited until my daughter was old enough to walk  distances on her own, and to be able to carry on a conversation with me before I informed the household of my plans. 

So, early one morning, while the sky was still dark, we left. Nurse stood in the torch lit doorway, crying her eyes out, and waving us off, but aside from that, it was a simple exit, my daughter and I with our traveling cloaks, carrying nothing but a simple sack each. Two green-hooded figures, we disappeared off into the woods, heading north.

My heart grew lighter with every step away from the place. I began to reminisce about other journeys – the one north to Hogwarts, quite like the road we traveled now, the one to the camp of the Britons, the one from Ravenwood to Londinium, and especially, the journey I had made to the great circle so many years before. The air held some memory of that journey especially – perhaps it was the darkness, the changing sky, the feeling of change in the air – change for the better. My stride grew longer, until Brenna began to cry that I was leaving her. I rushed back. 

We sat by a stream, my daughter dangling her toes in it. I retrieved some bread from a bag, we ate it hungrily. Brenna looked up at me, her grey eyes bright. "Where are we going Mama?"

I had told her little of my idea, in fact, I had merely told her we were going on an adventure. She had loved the sound of that at the time. She loved the stories I told her at night, of brave warriors and evil kings. Little did she know how many of those stories I had experienced in my own lifetime. 

We continued on, ambling at a slower pace now, Brenna's small hand in my own. Occasionally I would carry her, but for the most part, we walked along side by side, her chattering about the small animal she had just seen, or I telling her some tale of a princess who received her happy ending. I wished for such a tale myself, but it was not to be – my prince had come and gone, and he had not at all been like the ones in the legends. History would not remember Vortigern, at least not favorably. 

After quite some time (I had not kept track of the days, but let them flow by pleasantly), the countryside changed, became darker and wilder. I knew we were drawing near. Soon, we traveled into the mountains, with lakes pressed between. Brenna was fascinated, having never seen water in such large quantities before. I told her of the sea, how people set mythical kings out to float upon it, in hopes that they would reach the lands far away, where they lived on in eternity.

Finally, we broke out of a thick forest of pines. The scene before us stretched out familiarly. I felt a tear come to my eye, and hastily wiped it away. I was home.

Brenna gazed at the castle in awe. "Do we get to stay there, Mama?"

"Yes, Brenna," I whispered. "If they will have us back."

We knocked at the great doors, but no one answered. I pushed the door gently, it creaked open under my finger tips. We stepped into the entrance hall. Everything was silent. No sound of laughter, of students in the Great Hall, no explosions echoing from failed lessons up the grand stairs. 

I had begun to give up hope, to believe the castle deserted, when a small form darted across the hall, from one door to another. It was a boy, too young to be a student, only a little older than Brenna. He had a coppery shock of unkempt hair, and large, dark eyes. He gazed at us for a moment, then fled.

"Who was that, Mama?" asked Brenna in an over-loud whisper.

I hushed her with a finger to my lips, and proceeded on up the stairs, each footfall echoing loudly.

I walked all the way up to the entrance to Ravenwood tower, noting that where the banner of a raven used to hang, there was now one of an eagle. I pressed my palm to the hidden door. It swung open. The room was fairly empty, but for a few students. All were very somber looking, and did not glance up as we entered. But over in a corner, a woman saw us, and stood, her mouth open in a gasp.

"Rowena," she whispered, "you have returned!"

The lady's name was Elspeth, she had been one of the first teacher we had hired outside the five. I rushed to her.

"Elspeth, what has happened here?"

She shook her head. "Many sad things, since you have been gone, Ma'am. Salazar's promise has found it's form."

I did not ask how she knew what he had sworn the night he had departed. Instead I furrowed my brow, and said to her, "Tell me everything that has occurred, Elspeth, no more, no less. Do not omit a word, or embellish." She had always had a tendency to depart from the facts, one which I detested in a woman so bright.

And so, she told me, how everything had been going fine for the longest time… in my absence, she had been appointed charge of Ravenwood. Then, only a few months ago, a terrible plague washed through the valley. The lake had dried up, and what little water there was left had turned bitter. The sky had darkened to a hazy green for months, and no rain had fallen. Livestock had died, and crops withered. Disease sprung from the drought. It had wiped out the nearby village, and had descended upon Hogwarts. All the children were fine, but those who did not have magical blood had perished. 

Here I interrupted her. "What of Genevieve, wife of Godric?"

Elspeth hung her head with sorrow. "She held out for the longest time… we thought she was going to make it. But in the end, even she succumbed."

My hand flew to my heart, which seemed to have stopped. I had not known Genevieve well, in fact, I had made no attempts to know her, fleeing at her marriage. But it tore at my heart that such a lovely thing could be taken. Old men died, yes, young children as well, but not things of such vitality and beauty, in the prime of their lives. Elspeth continued.

"Ever since, parents have been appearing to bring their children home… quite scared that it will hit us next. And the castle is in disarrayed – half the classes are no longer held. But the rains have come at last, more than enough, in fact…"

"And what of Godric?" I breathed.

"He sits alone in his room, does not come out except at night, to continue his lonely watch along the walls. It is a tragedy. And his son runs loose… hasn't spoken a word since his mother's death."

"His son?" I raised my eyes to Elspeth's plain face. 

She nodded. "Within a year of your departure, Genevieve had a child. They named him Llewellyn. A charming little child, but now…" she broke off in a sigh.

"Godric is in his tower?" I questioned, standing.

"Yes," she nodded. "It would do him good to see you."

I nodded back. "Thank you Elspeth."

For the first time, her eyes caught on Brenna. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then refrained. I exited the room, clasping my daughter's hand tightly.

When we reached Godric's door, I released her from my grasp. "Brenna," I said to her, "wait right out here. I might be a while, but I promise, I will come for you. Stay where you are, so that when I return, I will be able to find you." She nodded vigorously.

I knocked softly. There was no answer, so, once again, I pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

The room was dark, no torches were lit, but a small shaft of light poured in through a narrow window, illuminating the scene. Godric sat there, covered in his cloak, head in hand, staring far out the window into the distance. He did not move, or seem to noticed me at all until I paced across the room, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He stirred, turning to look at me with dark, haunted eyes.

"Rowena? Have you returned to us? Or is this merely some phantom… they visit me now, constantly. Yes, a mere reflection of times past… and yet you are solid. Have I become a ghost as well?"

I shook my head, fighting back tears. Here was the man, the lion, the one who had led the Britons; broken and bewildered at last. "No, Godric," I whispered. "I am flesh and blood. I have returned."

He stood, grasped both of my arms for a moment, looking at me. My stony facade crumbled. "Oh, Godric, I'm sorry…" I threw my arms about him, buried my head in his shoulder. "I should have stayed, should have been there…"

He swallowed, then spoke in a voice that sounded hollow, dried out, like dead leaves. Still, it was comforting, a whisper. "There was nothing you could have done, Rowena. But now, you are needed. Hogwarts has died. It needs to be revived, and I could not do it alone."

I looked at him, eyes wide. "But Helga could have helped, could she not?"

He shook his head. "Helga has needed my help, and she has not received it. I cannot carry on without Gennie."

"But she is still here," I murmured. "She will always be with us, in spirit, right here." I placed a hand over his heart. "And someday, you will see her again, coming, singing across the hills. She found you once before. She will do it again."

He clasped a large, strong hand over my delicate one, and held it there, gazing at me. Finally he spoke. "Thank you Rowena."

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

It took some time to rebuild all that we had lost. And the hardest task of all was restoring Godric to his former self. Even after he had begun to laugh again, I would catch him staring out over the land, pensive as he had not been in years past, waiting as if to see Genevieve returning once more.

However, as the seasons passed, he grew less melancholy. He began to take an interest in his son again, though the child remained mute. Classes resumed, teacher that had gone away returned, new ones were hired. Students came to the doors again, asking for admittance. The village slowly began to refill, this time with the families of students who were looking for a new life, and a home closer to the center of wizarding in those days. Fear was still rising across the countryside of those with magical powers, as it has in all times since. The new villagers christened the village 'Hogsmeade' in honor of the school.

I settled back into my role as a teacher, though, with all the help we had received, it was no longer necessary for me to teach multiple subjects. It had been suggested that I take on a divination class, but I refused. Though I had learned much to help my craft along the way, there was also something deeper – and inborn sense or talent – that you must possess in order to see the things that come to pass.

Instead, I settled back into my spell teaching, though it was now being broken up into different sections – Charms and Transfiguration amongst them. I took the charms post, and toiled with the students, teaching them all that I knew. Exhausting, yet exhilarating work. I found myself smiling once more. I was truly home.

Brenna was thoroughly enjoying her new-found life at the castle as much as I was. Though still too young to be a student, she would come in to 'help' me some days, and I rewarded her with her own wand, teaching her a few elementary spells. I recalled the day I had received my own wand. It was old and worn now, as I was becoming, but powerful as ever. Brenna ran about with hers, displaying her knowledge to anyone who would watch – usually only Llewellyn. 

In fact, she was the one to get him to speak. We were eating at the high table, in the Great Hall, when Llewellyn approached his father. He raised his large dark eyes, and asked, clear as day, "Father, when can I have a wand like Brenna's?" Godric had one there by the next day. He was overjoyed to hear the child speak again. Soon, Llewellyn was talking away, though he was never quite as chatty as my Brenna. They became fast friends, and could be seen running around the castle or the grounds together at any given time.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

The days rolled by peaceably into months, then years. Hogwarts flourished once more, and all was well. My own heart was content, but still, I knew that there was still a space in it. My inability to love had been conquered by my daughter, I cared for her more than anything. But somehow, there was still something missing.

I did not truly realize what it was until one early autumn night. I had come up to the owlery to send a letter to Ollivander's in Londinium, begging them to relocate to Hogsmeade, but I stopped as my eyes beheld the scene out the west window. From these heights, you could see all the surrounding countryside, a majestic sight in itself. But tonight the sun was slowly setting over the mountains, and the sky was a deep scarlet, stretching out to the corners of the earth, and reflecting it's glow in the lake. The low-lying clouds were tinted golden from the dwindling sunlight in a way that would last long into dusk. 

I was so entranced, that I did not hear him enter. I jumped as he stood next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"Oh! You startled me, Godric."

He nodded in the way of an apology, then turned back to the window. "What a magnificent view," he breathed.

We gazed out the window for the longest time. I grew quite conscious of his hand still lightly placed on my shoulder. I must have made some slight movement that made him aware of it too, for he lowered it to his side.

"Rowena," he asked me, his tone unreadable, "do you think it possible to love more than one person in a lifetime?"

I felt the blood rise to my face at the unexpected question. "I think it possible to love people differently," I responded, choosing my words carefully, "for each person is different."

He sighed wearily, noiselessly. "I'm not talking about the way you love your daughter, or I my son."

I nodded, gazing off into the distance. "I know."

His lips parted, as if he was going to say something, but then he changed his mind. We stood in silence for a moment, before he asked me a question that he had pondered for quite some time. 

"Did you love him?" 

I closed my eyes, felt the earth rocking us gently in the cradle of time. "I have loved only one man in all my life."

He nodded, accepting this as an answer. 

_'Fool!'_ I wanted to cry, _'Fool! Do not accept this – ask.'_

But of course he did not.

As he walked off down the stairs, I remained by the window, gazing down upon the lake. The forest's shadowy edge blended high into the mountains, which pierced the golden streaked sky. Sadly, I thought to myself, _'Yes, Godric, I have only ever loved one man. I have only loved you.'_

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

Life stayed as normal, even after the incident in the owlery. Things did not become strange, as they had so long ago when Godric comforted me in the library. We both had the experience of years on our side now, and had both seen death at it's most silent. We had become creatures of happy solitude.

Helga grew quieter as well, though she had never been one for excess words. Her son was grown, and he journeyed off on his own. She taught, tended her garden lived by her usual schedule. Yet there was a sadness, a loneliness, a longing that had not been there before when I met her warm brown eyes.

Perhaps this is what made me follow her as I spotted her out my window one afternoon, beginning a trek up the nearby mountainside. I threw my cloak over my shoulders, and headed on out of the castle.

I journeyed up the mountain, to where she had gone, legs screaming, back aching. I stopped several times to catch my breath. I was not as young as I used to be. Finally, I reached the summit, a place where snow still gathered in small pools of shade, melting around the edges, but ever present. I clasped my cloak around me tighter. The wind blew my hair, whipping it harshly across my face. I quietly walked over to Helga, who was gazing far to the east. I turned to face the view.

The land stretched out below us forever, the castle a tiny child's toy, a mere model, in the grandeur of the mountains. The lake glistened below, the dark forest's edges could be seen. Hills rolled out to the south, eventually forming another range. To the north-east water could be seen, sparkling dimly in the distance – the great Firth and then the sea.

We stood in silence for the longest time. Finally, Helga spoke, quietly, but with a resolve in her voice I had seldom heard there before.

"I am going back to where I came from," she said simply.

"But Helga," I said, turning to her, confused. "You came from the west. This is the eastern sea."

She smiled, looking more tired than I had ever seen her be.

"No," she said to me, rather wistfully, her eyes still staring out to the horizon. "I lived there for but a short time, as I have lived here. My people are a traveling people, always on the move. Their home is on the sea. That is where my people come from." She pointed out off the high crest, far into the distance. I could see no land on the horizon, only the ever-rolling waters.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

She left us not long after that, across the land to the north east. In earlier years, I would have pleaded with her to stay, but somehow now I knew it was time. The fellowship of the founders was dissolving – it had been from the moment Ophelia had been felled. And nothing could stop it. We would continue to grow old, the earth would continue to spin, babies would be born, the elderly would die. I had grown tired of my forays into the future. I was content to remain in the moment, where I belonged. The only vestiges of my travels through time were the dreams. No longer did I travel within them, I merely lay there, watching the clear blue sky, watching the lone raven that circled overhead, a part of me deeper than I could ever explain. He taunted me, cried out to me, a symbol of a harsh pastime that is not so easily set aside. 

            "Where have you gone, friend?" he would ask. "Do you forget old companions so readily? Come, fly away with me!"

            Finally, after thousands of nights of torment, I broke, and cried out after him. "Leave me foul spirit!"

            He gazed at me, his dark eyes boring into my light ones. "Have you forgotten, Rowena of Ravenwood? You cannot escape your birthright. One day… one day, I will return, and then you will fly away with me. But for now I leave you – with only this reminder." And with that, he swooped down at me.

            I knew what he had planned before he reached me, felt his talons tear into my skin when he was still feet away. I raised my arms to shield my face, but I was not quick enough. With an angry cry, and a flash of silver in his beak, he reached out, claws scratching my face, before wheeling off with an angry caw, and flying away out of my sight.

            I sat up in bed, breathing heavily, and put a hand to my face. When I drew it away, there was blood on my fingertips.

            I stepped across the room to my basin to examine the damage. The cut was deep, running along my cheek bone, from my hairline all the way to my mouth. With my wand, I stopped the bleeding, and fell back to bed, into the first peaceful sleep I'd had in years.

            The next morning I heard gasps as I entered the Great Hall, but I kept walking, straight up to my seat at the high table. Godric turned to me, frowning, and opened his mouth to ask me what had happened, but I interrupted him.

            "I have decided," I said, loud enough for all to hear, "to change the name of my house." There was a murmur of voices. I raised mine. "From this day forward, the house of Ravenwood will be called Ravenclaw." With this, I sat, turning to Godric.

            "You said long ago, that the name lacked something. You even changed the symbol without my permission. Now I know why. They are wicked creatures…"

            "Rowena," he began, but I raised a hand for silence once more.

            "Wonderful, and yet wicked. The name needed to be changed to reflect their dual nature, the other edge of the sword. Ravenclaw," I said, raising my hand to my cheek, "reflects that. There is pain in knowledge."

            He raised his brows. "May I speak now?"

            I nodded curtly.

            "Your hair looks lovely today. I haven't seen it down in years."

            My mouth fell open, and my hands flew to my hair as I realized I had not bothered to put it up today. Strands fell across my face. I must have looked like a mad woman. Hastily, I tried to smooth it down and push it back. Godric only gave me that funny smile, and went back to his breakfast.

            The older you get, as I believe I have told you, the faster time passes. So it was at the end of the age of Godric of Gryffindor. The years had passed steadily, with my daughter growing up, and Godric's son. They had recently finished their schooling at Hogwarts. Llewellyn had decided to make his fame out in the world, and had gone off like Brock before him, but Brenna decided to stay at my side. She became a teacher, far better and more patient than I had ever been. She was kind, gentle, lovely. And she had loved – many times. My faults had been made right in her.

            I had never revealed to her the identity of her father, never let her know that she was the rightful heir to the now debated throne of Britannia. Even if she had known, she would not have taken it – she was a Caledonian at heart, having lived there since her fourth year. And yet, she was everything a princess should be – gracious, beautiful. She walked with a certain air that can only be born of two things – royal blood, and true courage. Her hair was indeed dark as a raven's wing, as the nurse had prophesized, and yet she was far more beautiful than I had ever been – her face had a noble shape, and her features were fine, yet firmly set. Her grey eyes rested upon things and people, seeing them for what they truly were.

            She had also inherited the gift, the curse. She did not talk to me of it, for she knew it upset me, but I could tell. In her eyes, I saw the knowledge, the sleepless nights. I wept for her behind closed doors.

            But I delay in finishing my story. Perhaps I do not want it to end or perhaps I do not mind continuing because I know it is a story that is ever-present. Time is a relative thing to those who have walked its roads, known it from within, seen it's structure. But to the rest of the world, time is the great destroyer, the beginning and the end.

            So it was with Gryffindor. His eyes wandered to the far-away hills. Perhaps he heard his Genevieve singing in them, I cannot say for certain. But the day came when he visited me, asking me if I wanted to walk with him one last time, as we had in the hills of Cambria long ago. So, silently, I followed him down to the lake. We had passed the edge of the forest, sheltered between the shore and the shade of the trees, when he spoke.

            "Rowena," came his voice, slightly troubled, but full of thought, "I will be leaving soon."

            I glanced up at him, only mildly surprised. I had been expecting something of this sort to happen for ages. We resumed our steps. I began to sing softly – 

"Somewhere across the rocky land,

Where heather overturns the sand;

Between the rivers and the lakes…"

He stopped his walk, and reached for my hand, encasing it in his own. I turned, looking him in the eye this time. "You asked me, many years back if I had ever been in love."

He nodded, drawing closer. "I remember it."

"You asked me again, not so many years ago, if I thought it possible to love more than once."

"I remember your answer well."

I gazed at him, refusing to break from his dark eyes. "I said to you then that I have loved only once. This still holds true. I have known only one true love in my life, so I say to you now, Godric of Gryffindor, I do not know. If there is only one thing in this world that I cannot study, it is love, and how to be loved in return. I have never shared true love."

His eyes searched mine, looking for answers he believed me to hide there. But there were no answers, not this time. For once in my life, I was a child, who did not know.

His fingers gently traced my raven scar. I shuddered, but not in pain or disgust. He gently cradled my face in his hands, and lowered his face to mine. It was not a beautiful kiss, not a pure and holy one like others that have been described in this tale, nor one that was recalled years hence, but it was a passionate one. It was the kiss that defined my world and brought me peace at last.

He broke away as gently as he had come, and I knew it was for the first and last time. He knelt and took my hand, kissing the back of it gently. "Milady." Then he stood. I noticed that he wore the clothes he had worn when we had set him on his funereal float, his ruby encrusted sword at his hip, his staff in his hand. I reached deep into my pouch, searching for a token to guide him on his journey. My fingers clasped around a cold metal disk. I drew it from the purse. It was the lone silver earring, the partner of the one that had gone before, into time with the raven. I pressed it into his hand. 

"Fare-thee-well, Godric."

And then he was gone.

I could have begged him to stay, but knowing that he would refuse, I did not. The time had come for him to leave me. And yet, he would remain with me always, like those who had gone before. The moment was – as all moments are – eternal.


	10. The Tower

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

 After that day, I walked silently back to my room at the top of Ravenclaw Tower. I did not come out for a full week, but sat there in silence, watching the grounds. I did not eat or sleep, but merely watched, a bird high on my perch, thoughtful, restive.

It was Brenna who persuaded me to return to the school. "At least until we can find someone to fill in," she said apologetically. The loss of one teacher was hard, the loss of two had put everything in disarray. And the castle mourned, as if Godric had died instead of leaving. Brenna felt the loss, as Godric was the only father figure she had ever known.

I returned to my classes, but noticed that my mind wandered far more than it had in days past. I would catch myself gazing out the window often. The students took this all in stride, but for me, it was startling. Once upon a time, I had been attentive, strict, harsh, perhaps even, with my classes. Now we drifted into a tired malaise, flowing along with the work instead of diving into it, and dissecting it bit by bit. I knew my days of teaching were over.

At the beginning of Autumn, several teachers joined us, and I was able to retire. Feeling poorly about not having me around, the staff elected me headmistress. I rejected the title. In the future, Hogwarts could be free to have as many Headmasters and mistresses as it wished, but while any one of the four were left, I refused to create the post. My duties were the same, however, and I walked the halls, peering in on the classes. Children would flee, or turn and smile, depending on how they viewed me when they heard the jingle of the key ring I wore tied about my waist. To some, I was a vicious old lady, to others, a kind and wise one.

For seventeen years, I watched over my school. Many joyous events happened within that period. Though it would be quite dull in the retelling, it was perhaps the most blissful part of my life. Brenna married a handsome Caledonian lord, who also happened to be a wizard. But most importantly – she loved him.

They had a son, and named him Corbin. He was my constant companion in the days of his youth, tagging along behind me in the halls as Llewellyn had after Brenna in years past. I found myself thinking about my friends children often these days, wondering what had become of them, whether or not they had children of their own. In time, my questions were answered. Children arrived, bearing the names and resemblances of their parents. A girl with long golden hair, and warm brown eyes… a thin, pale boy with dark hair, and eyes of silver… and the one that tugged at my heart the greatest – a boy named Leander with dark hair like his grandfather's, and green eyes like his grandmother's, bearing the name of Gryffindor.

I chose the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Hogwarts to announce my retirement. As the first headmistress of Hogwarts, my own daughter, Brenna was voted in to take after me.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

They came to visit me often, Brenna and Corbin, and occasionally her husband. I took up a few pastimes, such as weaving a great tapestry out of magical threads. I would use the remainder of my life to complete it, so that it could be hung in Ravenclaw tower. Appropriately enough, it was to be of the founding of Hogwarts. I would include it all, from the fight of the Britons to the dissolution of the fellowship. It was to be my masterpiece. I worked on it day and night, and Brenna and Corbin would come in to examine it, or praise it. My grandson would sit, and listen in rapture, as his mother had, to tales of brave warriors and noble ladies. His favorite, however, was my story, edited slightly, yet there in feeling. "Grandmama," he would say sometimes, "you have forgotten to include that part in your tapestry!"

I would give him a critical look. "Now Corbin," I would say. "I am an old lady. I need my rest. I would never rest if I included every detail. And besides, it would never fit in the tower." He would nod knowingly and let me work on. I smiled at the delicate pattern I was working on now, my fingers weaving into place an eagle overpowering a raven.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

And yet, sooner than I had ever dreamed, dark haired Corbin grew up and married. His son, Bertram, was born almost exactly fifty years since the day his grandmother had first arrived at Hogwarts, a little girl in a fairy tale of her own. They came to visit me as frequently as they could, but my eyesight was failing, and I believe the thought of me getting old and dying may have eventually put off Corbin's visits to the tower.

Brenna would stop in, to inform me of the going-on's of the school, and to tidy my room. One day, I felt her pause at my shoulder.

"Mother," said Brenna, concern in her voice, "the strings you are spinning do not exist."

I sighed deeply. "Dear child… for the longest time, you could see this tapestry I weave. Have you now abandoned me too?"

She threw her arms around me suddenly, catching me off guard. "Never, mother," came her voice, buried deep within my hair.

I clasped her arm to me. When I looked back at her, I could see her face, hazy, and far away, but present. Perhaps it was only a heightened memory. However, from that day forth, I began to be able to discern shapes and movements, then colors, and finally faces. It was then that I knew – my mind's eye was taking me into the present, not the past, for the faces of the students were not familiar to me, yet I could see them. My curse was blessed yet. 

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

The last time I appeared in the main castle was on the event of Hogwarts 75th year. Coincidentally, it was the year of my hundredth birthday, and they chose that day to celebrate both the founding and the life of the last remaining founder. On a cold January evening, the Great Hall filled, both with students and guests from the village, many of whom I had taught… parents, grandparents, great-grandparents even.

They must have thought me quite old, bent as I felt, withered and dried up like a leaf. My travels had aged me far more than my years. I surveyed the hall with my sightless eyes, seeing the faces in my mind. The children's eyes were full of awe, and yet, of respect. Respect was due to any creature who had lived as long as I, I supposed.

Brenna escorted me to my seat, between her and Corbin. Gingerly, I bent my knees, grasping my stick for support. The hall waited in silence, as I raised the heavy goblet in a toast. "To Hogwarts," I said simply.

"To Hogwarts," came the murmured echo.

At the end of the meal, I stood, nodded to them all, and proceeded out without a word. Brenna took my hand and led me back out into the hall, and up the winding stairs.

"I am weary," I remarked as we reached my door.

Brenna tried to smile. "I know, mother."

"I think I will rest now, for quite some time."

She nodded. "May we visit?"

"Certainly, my dear."

She embraced me, then opened the door. I stepped inside.

I would not leave that room for the next five and one-score years.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

I worked steadily now, day and night, on my weaving. The tapestry was indeed invisible to some. But to those who could see, who believed in the truth of the founding, it was clear and beautiful. Every day, I came closer to the end. I had decided to go on beyond the attack on the castle, beyond the death of Ophelia. By the time I reached the plague, I discovered that yet another generation had been added to the line of Bram of Ravenwood – Bertram had sired a daughter, Merle. I knew it before Brenna climbed the stairs to tell me, a task for even her in these late years. I began to see the beginning and the end, yet the threads did not come together quite yet.

It took me another year to finish the tapestry, up to the appointment of the first headmistress. Yet when I did, a great weight was lifted from my shoulders, and I was at peace. It was just before a midnight, on Midsummer's eve, a day that had run its spell through my life like a powerful magical thread. I decided to leave my tower.

My sight was clearer than it had ever been; I could no longer discern whether my real vision had returned, or if my mind's eye had become so seamless that it appeared as reality. Clutching my stick, I headed carefully down the stairs, a hard thud and two soft patters on each step.

I reached the high walk that spanned from the tower that contained the owlery to the astronomy tower. The cool night air hit my face as I exited onto the walk. I breathed the fresh air deeply, feeling as if I hadn't really breathed in years. The smell of wild flowers drifted from the star-lit field below.

I gazed out over the grounds, as I had done countless times since I first set eyes on the castle, a hundred years ago. Little had changed. The lake sparkled, its surface reflecting a nearly full moon. The forest still looked dark and foreboding, the mountains still rose steeply to the sky. The castle would crumble long before they did.

As I looked out across the crest, a shining shape caught my eye. I squinted, not certain, not believing… but there was no mistaking the shape. Majestic antlers pierced the dark sky like beams of white. It was a pale white stag, standing at the edge of the cliff, surveying the castle.

"Godric," I murmured.

"We are waiting for you," drifted the voice, a familiar voice from a long time hence, echoing across the valley.

I bowed my head. When I raised it, the stag had gone.

"I will come to you, Godric," I whispered. "I will come."

I returned to my room and waited.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

I had foreseen what was to be. Brenna would come in to my chamber later in the morning, sad, but not surprised. She would gently kiss my brow, and pull the cover over my face. She would then turn, glancing back at the room one last time. Then she would take from the hook by the door the keys that I had carried about my belt for the last fifty years, and with it, accept the responsibility of the school, and Ravenclaw house. I felt my eyelids flutter.

I was so tired.

And I knew it was time, as the beginning and the end came rushing together at last.

I closed my eyes, feeling the first rays of sunlight on my face. I smiled as I heard a gentle rustling of wings, then a symphony of glistening feathers beating against the wind. A lone raven cried its song over the vast woods. Then, all was still.


End file.
